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2002 Archive

 

 Busted: Escapade

So, I'm listening to "Busted" (Matchbox 20) over and over again, trying to recapture the clips in my brain. Hard. It was a fast vid with short clips and sharp, fluid cuts. But I want to try and match up some images with the lyrics, and I hope Merry won't mind--I suppose it's possible to spoil a vid in some sense, the way you'd spoil a story, but then again it's hard, because you still don't get the sense of it, viscerally. Plus my memory is not exact so I'm bound to get some of these wrong, and hit only a handful of what were actually many more clips. But if you don't want to be spoiled in any way, skip this.

  • Beginning of song--sharp, growling guitar slide, and I actually forget what visuals kicked this off. Ack.
  • I forget when words were only words -- Shot of Lionel Luther in his helicopter, folding his paper down and bitching out his young son, Lex.
  • She knows the party makes me nervous -- I'm fairly sure this was the shot of the meteor skimming across the cornfield, followed by Lex on the ground, curled up and denuded. This works, even though the lyrics look a bit odd written out.
  • In this stage we can't get hurt -- Shot of young Clark crouching and smiling at his newfound parents, tipped over in the car.
  • Don't try to understand me -- Lex at his desk, pulling away from his father's touch.
  • We're too cool to be here alone -- Shots of Lex driving fast in his car, Clark on the bridge from the pilot, staring out over the water, the logs in the road--
  • But, not too crazy to get busted -- These lines followed by hard beats and guitar, exquisitely showing the crash on the bridge, the car spiralling down, Clark falling into the water.
  • I found out one life just ain't enough -- Shot of Lex on the muddy river bank, rescued, coming to and staring up at--
  • I need another soul to feed on -- Clark.
  • I'm the flame I can't get burnt -- Shot of Lex turning to stare at himself in a full-length mirror, running his hand over his beautiful head. Heh.
  • I'm wholly understated -- Lex and Clark staring at each other as fireworks burst in the background.
  • I found silence in this space -- I don't remember. Grr. (In the song, "silence" sounds a lot more like "solace." And maybe the lyrics I looked up were wrong.)
  • An on and off again attraction -- Ditto, but...hmmm...actually, I think this was the part where they did some sharp cuts to show Lex and Clark eyefucking. Yeah.
  • And I need such amazing grace -- One of the most breathtaking moments in the vid as Lex, outside, does a series of half turns, his gaze searching the darkness, and silently mouths the word "Clark" right on "amazing grace." Oh god. It gives me shivers just to think about it.
  • Heaven sweep me away -- Don't remember. I'm lame.
  • [chorus] Love don't change, don't come around here / Don't wear my heart on your sleeve / Like a high school letter / Don't strain, cuz nothing ever comes from it / And the people we've become, well / They've never been the people who we are -- This flows so quickly I can't recall much of it, but on "high school letter" we see Clark approaching Lex in the Beanery wearing his (briefly acquired) letterman's jacket, and the "people we've become" lines poignantly play on the recurring vid theme of Lex's and Clark's relationships with their parents, showing Lex squaring off with his father and contrasting Clark with his mother and father. On the musical bridge following this, we see another stunning set of shots, Clark taking Cassandra's hand followed by the shot of Lex taking hers, coming together as the lyrics kick back in.
  • I strapped on one horse and prayed for luck -- Shot of Metropolis; Lex standing in his suit staring out the highrise widow, followed by a cut to the "Welcome to Smallville" sign.
  • I dug another hole to bleed -- Shot of Lex driving into his plant, I think, or into the place where that geologist (?) guy works, the one he blackmails.
  • I know exactly how this works -- Shot of Lex with the guy he's blackmailing, and an envelope of money he gives him.
  • I need a new feel dirty -- Lex sitting at his computer as Victoria comes around behind him and slides her hand into his shirt.
  • I don't need you crowding up my space -- Ouch shot of Clark and Lex in Clark's barn, tensely facing off, and then separating as someone walks up.
  • I just want to get inside you -- Close two-shot of Clark/Lex shoulder to shoulder, exchanging eyefucking glances.
  • Inside -- And a beautiful cut, with pan, across Clark's kitchen, from Clark and parents to Lex standing at the screen door, calling out a greeting. (I think that was from X-Ray.)
  • You can't believe the hearts you save -- This clip is on the tip of my mental tongue but I can't recall it. I think it's shots of Chloe, Pete, Lana.
  • Giving something away followed by the chorus and a short bridge -- Again, I don't recall much of this, but "high school letter" was, I'm pretty sure, Clark presenting the box of tulips (though that might have been later), and I think this is where we saw some Lionel/Lex fencing. There was a line in this chorus about "don't mistake something more for something better" which shows Clark looking at Lana, followed by Clark/Lex.
  • I dreamed that the world was crumbling down / We sat on my back porch and watched it / (Jesus is knocking on the door of your heart) / I dreamed that the buildings all fell down / We sat on my back porch and watched it -- I thought I should lump some lines together, because my memory sucks. The first pair of lines I don't recall, and the "Jesus" interval was a series of very fast, amazing shots that included Clark being struck by lightning. The second set of lines I think began with Clark rescuing Lex from the catwalk, and then it showed the catwalks crashing slowly to the ground; this was a haunting shot, matched with the tinkling piano.
  • Yeah, well I dreamed that the world was crumbling down / We sat on my back porch and watched it / In my head I heard the sound / Like fifteen strangers dancing -- And here begins the most viscerally ripping part of the vid, as we finally see Clark's and Lex's visions, Lex touching the sunflowers, which turn black and curl as we pan out and see him standing in the center of destruction, as blood falls from the sky, and Clark in the graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, kneeling in anguish.
  • But oh how I want you to know me / Oh how I want you to know me -- Shots of Clark staring intensely at Lex, Lex staring at him, if I recall. I do remember a deep, thrilling sense of "Guh."
  • Oh how I wish I was somebody else, baby / Oh how I wish you could own me / [chorus] -- More angst, following the usual structure of the chorus; I think I may have misplaced the tulip shot and it belongs here; we also see Lex looking at Clark with a cute latte mustache, which played against the music doesn't make you think "cute"--it's too ferociously angsty at this point. For the parental/kid shots we see the hugs from "Jitters" as Lex gets embraced by his father with inner rage while staring off hungrily at Clark being enclosed by his loving parents. And toward the very end of the song we see Lex turning away, walking away with his back to Clark and then stopping short. And at the terminus, he drops the kryptonite necklace into the lead box and snaps it shut.

So that was a fun test of my memory, though Merry is probably going "No, no, no! All wrong!" {g}

I might do some more vidshow comments, in a vaguer, simpler fashion, though of what's left that sticks in my mind, it's actually some of the more problematic vids. Which is fine. They're worth talking about.

I should stick this in for Tuesday, but I'm going to call it Monday in my archives....

posted 2.19.2002 @ 12:15am -- right-click here to grab a link

More Thoughts: Escapade

Forgot to mention I met AuKestrel and got to hang and chat a bit with her and Kat. Also met an interesting and wildly verbal woman, Cassandra Fox, who knew my blog and who I hope will get her own someday. She needs a bigger soapbox. Some of you may remember her as the gorgeous thing who talked non-stop at approximately ninety miles an hour with great articulation--and I say this in an utterly awestruck and respectful way. {g}

Destina posted a summary of the biggest blog panel issue in her livejournal, and Thamiris already has a post riffing on this topic which summarizes my feelings nicely. I still want to talk about the panel, but not yet...not yet.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Jintian has posted a great Spike/Buffy essay. The panel on Spike was interesting, as mentioned--I wish I'd jotted down the list of pros and cons for Chipped!Spike. I didn't take a notebook anywhere, damn me. I'll list a few of the cons, from what I can recall--and it's worth noting that Chipped!Spike is essentially just Spike as a presence on the show now, i.e., with the idea being that they'd have never kept him on the show as a regular character unless he were chipped and safe--he'd have been some season's Big Bad, and very likely killed. So: chipped Spike takes screen time away from other characters; he makes them look bad or dumb (e.g., Xander in "Gone"); he fights more poorly than he used to (that was mine, heh--I was thinking of "Harsh Light of Day" and his slayer-killing history, versus how he keeps falling to the ground in something like "Older and Far Away"); he's bad for Buffy; he contradicts the canon logic of demons, etc. There was an equally long list of pros, but they blur in my mind to a summary of: Spike Good.

During the weekend, I had a chat with people, three of whom sweetly ganged up to attack me with praise--I felt like Kirk being pelted by tribbles, warm fuzzy tribbles--too much! too much! (I also felt tribbled when there were twenty of us stuffed into a hotel room, all fannishly piled on one another.) From that we had an interesting discussion of female ego and responses to praise, which maybe I can riff on later. But re my writing, they were all praising my old X-Files stories, like "In a Dark Time," and describing the richness of the writing, with quotes. And none had read my Buffy stories yet, and so I was really interested to see what they thought of them, in comparison, because I've been feeling as if my Buffy stuff is my "mature" writing, nicely plotty and dialogue-savvy and all. And yet, on the opposite side, I feel that my vocabulary has dwindled quite a bit, to something utilitarian, and also that the stories do work with certain limitations in that they're supposed to be episodic.

So I got home last night and, deeply tired, read more than half of IDT. And I got really sucked into my own stuff, what with the perspective of distance and all. And christ...I knew some words and wasn't afraid to use them: simulacrum, prescient frisson, jubilation, ingratiate, impudent, conspiratorial, chasten. I mean, okay, these aren't unheard of, but then the words became sentences, and weirdly complex and sophisticated ones sometimes. It seems so different, and now I don't know what's maturity and what's regression.

Just to compare some passages. These first sentences and bits are from IDT, the second set from "Lion Shall Lie":

It was raining again, the sky making sounds of determination and thunder across the rooftops of the city. It was a great, quiet, dependable noise.

Waking, he focused first, by instinct and old habit, on the source of images, watching with his eyes before his mind even caught up. A graveyard, a staggering figure, two young people standing at a tombstone. Movement, violence, the muscular spasms of mouths opening in silent words and cries. The action on the screen seemed choreographed to the dull roar of the rain, as if human emotion and behavior had been deliberately contrasted to the impersonal murmur of the world’s weather. The human scale: small and boxed, mute, violent, awkwardly simulating itself. A simulacrum running on its endless loop while the sky poured down from above.

In the room, he found his partner awake and about. Krycek was dressed in shirt and trousers, and sat at the table with his bare feet propped on a chair. On the table in front of him were two settings, the before and after shots of an elaborate room-service breakfast: one neatly composed tray with all its elements intact, one shattered puzzle with its half-chewed pieces strewn carelessly about. Rose petals and a denuded stem had been deposited on a white linen napkin that was still neatly folded and unused. Incense of coffee hung in the air, with scents of soap and spicy aftershave, diffusing slowly on the bathroom's steam.

Krycek did not immediately acknowledge Mulder's presence. He had dismantled his toast into a litter of twisted screws, which he seemed to be dragging one by one through the eggy carnage of his breakfast plate. He was watching Speed Racer. In Japanese. His face simultaneously expressed absorption and boredom. Long, well-kept toes flexed upon the striped chair cushion where his feet rested. The buttons of his shirt were almost entirely undone, allowing Mulder to notice for the first time a thin irregular knife scar that descended from his collarbone along his torso. He hadn't yet gelled his hair and it stood out from his head, resembling a cat's rubbed, half-damp fur.

The air was muggy, but cooling; high above the skyline the clouds rolled in. Bruised and smeared in a muddy palette, clouds grey and gold and orange and pink arrived in the sky, streaking across its surface until what little blue could be seen from street-level was spray-painted over in the bright, messy colors of garbage and gardens.

Mulder shot him a dirty look. Alex studied him surreptitiously. The older man looked wiped out--the walking dead--but also incredibly appealing, despite this. His hair had flattened as the day had progressed, and now it clung to his scalp like a fitted cap of some fine soft bark. His eyelids were at half mast, full and furling with sleep, and damnably seductive even as a signal of their owner's exhaustion. Face planed with stubble and city grit, collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, jacket dangling from one hand, every lucid bone in his body flowing, his glorious internal architecture set into motion. . .

The signal changed, red shifting to a cold, lurid green. Alex rested his own arm on his window and settled back into the seat, accelerating again. The night was cooled by the rain and light traffic swished by, heading to and from the lights of Manhattan that gleamed intermittently in the distance. Even asleep Mulder was a presence beside him. Sated and in partial dishabille, he looked like a voluptuary sleeping off his opium. Glowing and fading ribbons of light and shadow passed across his chest, his legs; his body was extraordinarily distinct to Alex. He was, somehow, more real than he'd been at any point before. His body was a galaxy of atoms that had suddenly drawn in densely, to throng the air with their existence--how did that line go, Alex wondered. Something about containing multitudes. . .

And now from LSL:
Buffy tried not to look like she was limping as she walked up alongside the boundary wall of the cemetery. Limping did not say: Victorious Slayer on a Rampage--Fear My Kicky Boots! No. Limping said ouch in a small voice, and asked you to wait a moment while the limper rested.

Once on the graveyard grounds, she wandered through the headstones, carelessly scanning for freshly broken earth and footprints. The air had a wet smell, earth and grass opened up by the rain that had fallen earlier, and the moon was full and high, its light covering everything it touched like snow.

When she'd almost convinced herself she'd imagined his voice, a light flared in the darkness and Spike's face flickered into sight, bent over a cigarette. Cupped hands, sharp jaw, lowered eyes, painted by fire. In the second before the lighter died, he raised his head and looked directly her way.

Buffy stared at Spike, who stared back. She could see everything in his eyes that he was feeling and thinking, she could hear him inside: his soul speaking like the recorded voice of the dead on a strip of magnetic tape, his demon laughing at her. Voices bound, snarled together; of two beings locked in eternal struggle.

She said nothing. The mist was starting to look sparkly, and the light was brighter as the trees thinned. Ahead she could see the clearing where the Tree of Ilwyn had recently stood. Now, Ilwyn herself stood there, long hair flowing out from her as if carried on static electricity, long skirts merging into the forest floor. Fairies were weaving flowers in her hair, and dwarf women were stitching them into her dress. Around the edges of the clearing sat a bizarre collection of animals and beings, most of them lolling and laughing and basically doing the whole eating-of-the-fruit, drinking-of-the-wine scene. You'd think they were an innocent bunch of cartoon extras if you didn't look too close, but she didn't think Hobbits were supposed to have fangs. She was positive that bunnies shouldn't, and she could almost feel Anya's shudder behind her.

She'd turned off his music only to pick through his CD wallet. She was making little snorting noises. He wasn't sure how she could see titles in the dim interior, but didn't question it. He didn't want to question anything. Sitting next to her and driving away from Sunnydale was a fantasy Spike wanted to sustain for as long as he could. A vampire driving an SUV. Big joke, that. But truth was he felt odd, precariously balanced between normal and not, suddenly unsure which was which. Was abnormal all those fat families with their kiddies and bright-picnic lives, or was it him, hanging around like a ghost in the world's machine? It was all about machines now, and he'd never tried to understand them more than was needed to get by, but tonight--tonight he was one of those smooth blokes in a car advert. Sweeping along the road, free as fuck all. Brilliant. He hadn't even painted over the windows yet, driving only at night, and now risk paid off in widescreen fantasy, Buffy next to him all belted up and girlish, the road ribboning beneath his wheels, white lines disappearing as he picked up speed. The trees here were big, grey waves streaming above them on each side, and the stars glittered between them in a strip of black heaven.

I don't know. I just don't. It's clear that I've moved away from luxuriating in language, away from both the sensual sprawl of interiorization and the sweeping omniscient description--but is that because different fandoms demand different voices and tones? I don't know. I could write a Buffy story in the same elegant and somewhat elevated diction of IDT, but I don't think it'd be right. And yet, are the language skills on display in IDT something I've lost for good? Could I really write like that now if I wanted to? It was my natural voice at the time, I think, at a time when college wasn't as far behind me, and I had more literary examples boiling around in my brain. What's my voice now--do I have any?

Looking back, I'm also kind of stunned by the fact that I was doing multiple POV shifts in scenes--Scully, Mulder, Krycek, slipping from POV to POV as I changed paragraphs. I hadn't realized I'd ever done that. Not to mention all the research I did. Good god. No one will ever know how much research I did; it's invisible to you, but I spent, for example, at least half an hour online finding out what Happy Meal toy figures were being offered in the summer of 1994. I still wonder how much of the medical exposition makes sense.

Strangeness. It's disconcerting to go back and look at IDT and realize...well, how good it was. I assumed that because it was my first real story (not counting "Devil in a New Dress"), it must be bad. You like to think you're making progress as a writer. If you go from one kind of good to a different kind of good, it's not quite the same...maybe? And am I less good in some ways now? What's less good and what's just different?

Argh. I think I just want validation from the three particular women who were praising me, all of whom I radically respect and got feedback from way back in 1997. What do they think of me now, you know? And, really, it's not even that--it's something about how my place in fandom has changed since then. I began in X-Files and that was the sum total of my online presence: all of my friends were fellow X-Philes. They read my stories, of course they did. And I heard from them about it. Now, years later, online fandom has exploded and my friends are spread across widely different fandoms--Mag 7, Smallville, Due South, Harry Potter, Stargate, anime fandoms, Lost Boys, etc. And I've come to expect that they won't read my stories, for the most part. And I don't always read theirs--at least not by pouncing on them immediately, and with the fervor of a fellow obsessive. There's actually something about that which is a huge relief--we're not in competition, and we have a certain comfortable distance, because beta-reading and knowledgable praise isn't really expected as it would be if we all shared one fandom. And yet despite all that, there's a part of me that wants someone to look at then (X-Files) and now (Buffy) and speak with insight as to whether I'm still the writer I was then, how I'm different, whether I really am better in some ways.

Blah blah blah fishcakes. Speaking of which, I need to go read the Smallville recap.

posted 2.18.2002 @ 4:55pm -- right-click here to grab a link

The Longest Post Ever: Escapade

Got back from Escapade last night. Whoosh. Don't know where to begin, so defaulting to a more or less chronological organization seems wise, starting with the boring part where I actually caught the plane--the shuttle service arranged to pick me up grossly early as usual, but there was a huge security check-in line at Sea-Tac, so I suppose precaution is the better part of...valor? I bought coffee and a scone and stood in line be-bopping to my headset as we wound our conga through the security ropes. I'd been curious about airport travel post-911. It's not quite as bad as I'd feared--though at the twee Santa Barbara airport, coming home, they were a bit more stringent, and made everyone take off their shoes and jackets. My bags got randomly searched, and I was glad I hadn't bought any really tawdry slash zines, like the ones where there's grimacing butt-fucking on the cover. The most priceless moment was when the old guy opened my plastic bag of used underwear. Apparently if they can't search it by hand, they run it back through the x-ray machine. In case, you know, the bomb was in your panties.

Trip out was fine, and I decided at thirty thousand feet that given the prospect of terrorism or engine failure, I could have a drink. It was the first of three Jack-and-cokes I had over the weekend: one on each plane flight, and one at a fannish dinner. And I feel fine about this. I never really decided to make Escapade a resolution-free zone, but it was all good.

Santa Barbara is the most precious airport ever--red tile roofs, frondy things out front, small tiled walkways. It's like a country club. Sadly, the con seems to have outgrown the SB Holiday Inn, and may be moving next year. I like the hotel. It's comfy. I roomed with my friends Sandy, Rache, and Laura A. My first time sharing a room, and it was lovely. Chocolate, ear plugs, and civility--I've decided that these three things could solve a lot of our global problems.

First evening, Thursday, I just hooked up with people. It's mostly a blur now, but I do recall going out for Chinese with Seah, Margie, Merry, and a few other fen I didn't know as well. In fact, at the time I made a point of remembering everyone's names--Elke, Barbara Tennison, Celeste--but with the fading of time I've forgotten two others. Did some other stuff that night. I knew I should have taken notes. Suspect we made a puppy pile on the hotel room beds and watched something. Either Thursday or Friday there were about twenty of us stuffed into our room, watching vids in a big heap. Con check-in began that night--the badges were pretty, and the programs were gorgeous, with your choice of LotR characters. I chose the elf.

Friday I began going to panels. I was disappointed with the panels this year, with some exceptions. There were fewer than usual, it seemed, and I wasn't exactly spoiled for choice. Usually, there are so many good topics cross-scheduled I have a hard time deciding where to go. This year, there were periods where I didn't have anything to attend. (Which actually works out okay, on the socializing end of things.) I did vote for panels, but I suppose I could have put more effort into suggesting topics or even volunteering to moderate. I did get a panel idea for next year, though, while watching Gwyneth's Buffy-Nikita-Scully vid "There's No Way Out of Here." Vague idea, as yet, but--something about the function of the "fish out of water" character, the outsider looking in. Or even just "The Other." E.g., the role of the "Other" in Buffy and other shows. A meta-topic.

So, the panels in general--disappointing. There was often little or no moderation, and conversation wandered off-topic, and side chats sprung up. I bemoaned the lack of structure. Also, most of the panels I was interested in were in a tent outside (they seemed to schedule all the fandom-specific panels there), and the roar of traffic going by made it difficult to focus or hear. The tent idea was apparently based on feedback of people who found it hard to get to the next-door convention suite--a slight hike, outside the hotel. I understand this, but the tent sucked. Another reason, maybe, to find a new hotel.

Despite all this, many individual panels were very cool. Panels I attended on Friday:

"We have met the enemy and they are us: Why fandom would be great if it weren't for the fans."
"Criticism"
"Nobody Here But Us Sockpuppets"
"Stargate SG-1: Where's the Science in the Fiction?"
"Buffy: Chipped Spike"
I don't have much to say about specific panels--I didn't feel drawn to participate in most of them, except the Spike panel, which got me all hyper and fangirlish, even to the point of clutching the knees of strangers beside me. I'd feared it would devolve into bitter sparring; the description was: "Chipped Spike is the best thing to happen in three years vs. Chipped Spike sucks." I sat near the door in case I had to get up and walk out. But everyone there was still fannish about the show and Spike, and the moderators were very good (shout out to Sandy Justine and Jessica Ross), so it stayed civilized and on topic, with very careful attention to looking at how Spike's presence affected the dramatic structure of the show. What sticks in my mind is the argument Jessica made about the season six arc. I'll paraphrase her thoughts:
The dominant arc of the first half of season six is Buffy's return from the dead. The climax of that is finding out she's returned not from hell but from heaven. We, the audience, find out about this too early, and should have found out in OMWF, with everyone else. Buffy wouldn't have had any reason to reveal this secret if Spike hadn't been there. She would not have told anyone else, but the availability of undead Spike, who'd understand her angst, dramatically triggered the revelation, thus spoiling the audience for the high point of the arc in OMWF--undermining it dramatically.
I don't agree with this. I could see her point; it was an interesting argument. But no. The turn of the screw is that we do know, and we want to watch everyone's reactions when they find out--Willow's in particular. I think that's a very standard dramatic structure, that the audience knows more than the characters, and I had no problem with it. It made the build-up of the eps toward OMWF all the more painful, too.

Low point of the panels, on a personal note, came during the SG1 panel. It was quite a good panel, and we were talking about why more people didn't use the plots available to them in this huge universe, and someone said, essentially, "No one writes good, plotted stories. Hey, you could even use the old standards, like 'aliens force us to have sex', as in Trek. Where's the 'Plato's Stepchildren' of Stargate?" I mean, hello?! I wrote that story (and so did Lady of Shalott, but this is all about my angst). And a while later someone bemoaned the lack of stories that bridge episodes; like, hmmm, the story I wrote between 'A Hundred Days' and 'Shades of Grey'?

I know I shouldn't feel bitter, but it just touches old sore spots. No one was really reccing any good stories by name, except one by Quercus, "The Grave Yields Back Her Robberies," which I jotted down to read.

I did not go to the Sentinel panel about the feminization of Blair. Even if the fandom hadn't loosened its grip, that particular discussion is old hat. I swear they had that same panel last year. Sentinel fandom was not much in evidence this year--though there were still many zines for sale--but there was one thing that was almost enough to reel me back in, more on which shortly.

So, every year people like to track the trends, read the signs at Escapade to determine what is the hot new fandom this year, what is the old fandom that's having a surprising resurgence, what is the fandom that should have been big but isn't, etc. This year, hot new fandom was definitely Smallville. Eps were being shown in the A/V room and in hotel room parties, people were jazzing on the vids, everyone was saying things like, "I tried to resist, but I keep getting sucked in deeper," and there were passing, sheepish mentions of SV in panels dedicated to other fandoms. ("No, I'm not writing any Stargate, 'cause, you know, Smallville. The fandom that ate my brain.") LotR was visually present in the pretty programs, but I didn't hear a lot of talk about it. Highlander had a strong presence in the vid show as usual, but no panels. Invisible Man had a panel, but we all seemed to agree the fandom was doomed unless it became a sneaky cult hit over time. Stargate enjoyed a second or fifth wind, or something, with kick-ass vids and airing of brand-new eps in the A/V room (i.e., the ones shown in the UK, not yet aired in the US). Buffy was represented solely by Spike, I felt; the show is definitely dear to people's hearts, but doesn't come up much as a slash topic. Due South was on people's minds because of the new Duet zines for sale; everyone had a copy and was blissing on the fic.

Sandy has the Duet zines, which I'll read at some point. I also bought M. Fae Glasgow's latest collection of DS stories, Due Cut: Bene Dictum VI. I'm actually pretty disappointed. I usually enjoy her stories but this time I'm not feeling engaged. The stories themselves, as stories, don't do much for me, and the plummy diction of her Fraser is putting me off--there's no eroticism, no jazz. Oh well. I don't regret buying it. It wasn't that expensive, and I can probably pass it around to friends.

That was the only thing I bought this year in the dealer room, besides a Spike tee-shirt. Virgin purchase! It was the first fannish tee-shirt I have ever bought. Heh. It's gorgeous. I wore it for an entire day, feeling like a goof, but very happy. There wasn't much there for me in the dealer's room, not like yesteryear, where I shelled out big bucks for early season Buffy vids and various zines. I didn't even look at the zines, or much else. I would have bought, say, a Spiked coffee mug if there'd been one, or a key chain. I didn't see any. All for the good, money-wise.

This is so not chronological any more.

So, Friday night. God, my memory sucks. I'm nearly sure, however, that it was Outback Steakhouse night. Sandy, Rache, Laura, Laura's adorable friend Shannon (con virgin) and me. I ate beef and my colon moaned and my eyes glazed over, and I staggered back to the hotel room with Sandy and threw myself on the bed for a nap before the vid show. I ate a lot of beef this weekend, including two burgers, each very good. And each time I felt like I'd been stunned by a slaughterhouse blow to the head. Ah, beef.

Friday vid show--crappy sound, but otherwise very good. A lot of vids I hadn't seen, some I had, including Lynn's fabulous Stargate vid, "In Your Eyes." Luminosity had some kick-ass vids this year, including a few Krycek ones that felt very fresh, maybe in part because there are now new clips from eps I haven't seen. She showed "Wrapped Around Your Finger" at Friday's show. Beautiful. Concept of Krycek being wrapped around CSM's finger, doing his bidding, and finally turning the tables. My vid vocab is poor, but I liked the use of black screen to segue between clips--that, along with the song choice, made it feel very smooth and detached, like her characterization of Krycek. I don't know how else to put it. She also used clips in restrained ways that surprised me nicely--like, when Krycek shoved CSM down the stairs, we only saw the shove and then him stepping around the body, no overly dramatic shot of CSM tumbling down.

And, oh god--the real stand-out vid of Friday, I have to say, was "Only the Good Die Young" by Merricat Kiernan, and Killa, a Wiseguy vid (Vinnie and Sonny). This caused something of a nostalgic furor among old WG fans, and I sucked in people to rewatch this in our room several times. (It's on one of the recently released WOAD tapes.) It was just fun and fabulous, and proved the exception to the rule that you should never do a m/m slash vid using a song that has feminine gender lyrics. It just worked so fucking well here. On the first line of "You Catholic girls start much too late," for instance, we see Vinnie walking out of the penitentiary; later, we see Sonny pinching his cheek. And then there's name "Virginia." Why these things work, I think, is for a couple of reasons: first, "girls" is a common term in wiseguy teasing, e.g., your buddy snarks, "Hey, you girls done fighting yet?" And "Virginia" can be read like a nickname (Vinnie = FBI = Virginia), or as a mockery of the name "Vinnie" itself, or as a play on virgin. If the girl's name had been "Francine" or "Betty" it just wouldn't have clicked. But man...this was so damn good that I can look at the lyrics and remember almost every clip. And that's rare for me. (Money shot: the clip of his OCB card on "cross of gold." Sigh.)

Saturday. Weird--I thought I went to several panels, but now that I look at it, I can only remember going to three: Due South (Swinging Both Rays) the Invisible Man panel, and the Smallville panel. These were all good, and the moderators of the DS panel carefully helped us avoid any skirmishes in the Ray wars. I hooked up with Jane Mortimer and we spent a lot of time hanging out, which was lovely. Had lunch with Jane, Sandy, Rache and Laura, if I recall correctly, and we spent most of the lunch talking Smallville. It's hard to pin down how I spent my hours--for most of the weekend, really--because it's all one big fannish, happy blur. In my wanderings, I seemed to meet up most often with She Who Is Kat Allison (all praise and adore!), the beautilicious LaT, the wonderfully cuddly Maygra, and: Laura Shapiro, who I hadn't met in person before (hip and wonderful), Kass Rachel (ditto, for first-time meeting, and she's tall, willowy, very cool), Destina (good people and damn smart), and the always yummy Sandy Justine. There's also the wonderful women I'm just about always rubbing up against in friendly fashion--Seah, Merry, Margie (room next door to ours, yay), and Lynn and Shoshanna and Lady of Shalott and Elynross. Jeez. All you people know you're cool, damn it, so if you're reading this, know I adore you.

I didn't get to see as much of some people as I'd have liked: Viridian, Sheila, Cody, Nonie. But I met everyone at least briefly, and shared hellos with some bloggers like Ins. Soo--I fell just short of stalking Soo. I kept spotting her in the halls and pouncing and telling her how adorable she was, and can only hope I wasn't that obnoxious about it. She's too cute for words--dark-haired, with glasses, and this shy little smile. I wanted to eat her up with a spoon. Heh. I restrained myself, though, and we never really did get to sit around and shoot the shit and bond. Maybe next year. Somehow I missed meeting Kate Bolin, which disappointed me--unless I somehow met her and didn't know it. I would feel quite dumb if that were so.

Skipping la-la-la ahead to the Saturday vid show: Best. Fucking. Show. Ever. It was unbelievable. Digital computer vidding is beginning to solidify into the revolution it is--the source for most vids was shockingly clean and the cumulative effect of seeing that much vidding technique just blows me away. I'm just going to go into gush mode now, by the way, and list some of the standout vids.

Busted (Smallville) by Merry Lynne & Katharine -- One of two vids that stole the show, for me. This vid is so good you have to hate Merry, because it was her first one, damn it, but Katharine's incredible talent is also on display here. I got to watch this several times, because I saw it before the show and, after the show, stalked Merry unapologetically and made her replay it for me. And I could use a thousand words to try and describe this vid in detail, but my attempt would be lame. It's a bang-on match of clips to lyrics, gritty, breathtaking, edgy; unbelievably powerful--the concentration of Clark's and Lex's personal arcs into a vid framework makes them all the more potent and epic here. After the first viewing my immediate thoughts were: I never knew this show was so dark, its symbolism so rich, I never knew the cinematography was so beautiful, and oh MY GOD THE ANGST. Guh.

Language (Stargate) by Carol S -- An experimental vid, very interesting, with posterization of the source clips and overlays of scrolling words. As Jo pointed out in the vid review, it's very reminiscent of Peter Greenaway. It made me think of The Pillow Book as I was watching it. I was fascinated. Ultimately, it was too hard to "read" on the big screen--Carol herself said that it was meant to be watched on a small screen, and viewed several times for full comprehension. If I get that chance, I might have more to say. The real point was to see some of the potential that lies ahead for vidders in computer vidding.

Motorcycle Drive By (Buffy) by Lynn -- Words. Cannot. Describe. This was the show-stopper. This is like having my heart ripped out slowly, slowly, slowly. This is a Spike vid. No. This is the Spike vid. Check out the lyrics here, knowing that these in no way capture the affect of the song itself as heard, and can't even begin to represent what Lynn did to represent them visually. Now, I'm biased, I admit: I am utterly hopelessly loving Spike and Spike/Buffy. But, the brilliance of this vid blew everyone away--the toughest, most critical vidder I know was brought to speechlessness by this. The song blends seamlessly with the visuals and you feel it could only have been "written" like this, just this, in no other way, as this heartbreakingly anguished story of love. Behold the power of vidding--it slams into you like a freight train, more powerful than a hundred well-written, convincing Buffy/Spike stories, more devastating than watching the show itself, because again--as with the Smallville vid--when you compress and concentrate the story it can become more potent, a bullet right to your gut. Part of the wonder of this vid is how the song plays out, verse after verse, each one unexpected--it's a long song, and surprising, with each new twist driving the visual story deeper into you. Lynn gave me (gave me!) her copy of the vid to take home with me. I almost want to try to find a way to convey it in words, clip by clip, for those who might never get to see it. I realize that's insane. But it breaks my heart to think of this remaining inaccessible to so many fans. I'm just going to stop talking about this now. I need to breathe, and that's hard to do when I think about this vid.

I'm Not a Virgin Anymore (Highlander) by Luminosity -- A sharp, funny Duncan vid that paints him as quite the slut, historically speaking, and slowly braids in the Methos/Duncan courtship dance as the vid progresses. A crowd-pleaser. Luminosity is amazing. And in fact, I think I'm just going to mention out of order her other Highlander vid, "History Repeating," which was an Amanda vid. In-fucking-credible. Who knew? Who knew I could like Amanda? Who knew there were fresh HL clips I hadn't seen a thousand times before in HL vids? (Of course, as someone pointed out, she had her own spin-off.) This rocked--sharp, fast cutting and pretty, pretty shots, with a hot bisexy vibe running through it. And, you know, people like to say that there's all this self-hating misogyny in fans--you know, that women hate shows about women, hate women characters breaking up the OTP, etc. But when you see a femme-centric vid like this bring down the house, you really have to wonder. Is it misogyny, really, or is just that we usually see a bunch of crap representations of women in media and resist them? This is me stealing a riff from Maygra here, from her blog a few weeks back.

Kryptonite (Invisible Man) by Seah and Margie -- I had to watch this a few times before it really hit home for me (I saw it in draft form), but by the third viewing, on the big screen, I was blown away. What I originally resisted and then came to love were the POV shifts from Darien to Bobby--but man, Bobby deserved his turn to be crazy and kickin' some ass. There'd been talk for quite a while that someone should do this song for IM, and we were all right--it works really, really well. The visual dynamics of the show--how Darien and Bobby (or the actors if you want to go meta) riff off each other physically--comes across strongly here. I hope this worked as a conversion vid and people went home all jazzed up to watch the show and write some stories.

Friction (Stargate) by Kay, Kathy, and Jill -- Okay, see, this is the problem. I'm beginning to run out of superlatives, and my knowledge of vidding isn't enough for me to keep spinning out new twists of praise. This entire vid show was SO DAMN GOOD. I weep. I weep that all these vids aren't going to be together on a single tape. (Because you can opt out of the con tape and some people make their own collections.) So, Friction--a Jack vid, and though I suspect I've used the words "kick ass" several times now, this is truly Jack kicking ass. I want to take this vid and shove it in the faces of every Softy!Sappy!Jack writer out there and say, "Here! Here! Damn you! Write this, because you just don't get it--this is Jack, this is!" I think if I'd been a non-fan this would have electrified me--like, shit, who the fuck is this guy and why am I not watching this show? And is that Richard Dean Anderson? Dear Christ, that man's a hottie. And this vid showed him off, with sharp music and sharp clips and a lot of juice. Quiver.

Behind Blue Eyes (Buffy) by Lady of Shalott -- Amazing Ethan/Giles vid. And let's just pause to contemplate the odds of that. The opening of this vid--a musical segue from Giles singing the song in the Espresso Pump in "Where the Wild Things Are" to The Who--had everyone talking. We got to see Ripper...kicking...ass. I know, I know. But really. There was a lot of ass kicking in this vid show. I can't think of a lot to say about this vid other than wow. Wow. Wow. 'Cause sometimes that's enough, okay?

By Way of Sorrow (Stargate) by Sandy -- Sniff. Well, I feel very proprietary about this vid. Gave Sandy the song, and saw it in progress, and feel very loved for the fact that she made this. And it's just so goddamn wonderful and beautiful and right. I think no matter what other vids I ever see, this will be the definitive Daniel vid for me, just like Lynn's vid is the definitive Spike vid. It captures the essential, underlying grief of his character, and his personal arc--his slow trajectory away from that grief, toward exploration and healing, and the hope of joy. Yeah.

Transparent (Buffy) by Laura Shapiro -- I need to see this again. Missed the chance because it was shown out of order in the vid review and I wanted to go to the blog panel, so I growled about that a bit. This one made me cry during the show (Lynn's made me cry later, but I was too caught up in the bigscreen glory to cry during the show itself). This is a Willow vid, showing how her sense of personal inadequacy and invisibility over the years (primarily romantic) led her to embrace the power of magic, a thematic story that makes so much more sense than the current "addiction" metaphor. And, as I think Laura herself mentioned to me, the canon can be read as contradictory to itself, since some of Willow's lines in "Wrecked" support her inclination to magic in order to be special, for attention, and not as an addiction per se. I was really wowed by this, at the angst, and how well the song worked well, and the clips chosen to show how she made her decisions to move from passive Willow to active, magical Willow. A few people said they had problems with the last verse, and I can't find the lyrics online--I don't remember it being jarring. The first build-up was kind of slow for me at first--simply because it did seem so passive, all of Willow's reaction shots, but when I got what the vid was doing, it really worked for me. Hence, pain and sniffling.

It Must Be Obvious (Stargate) by Lynn & Kay -- I'd seen this before, and it's fabulous. A Jack/Daniel vid. Fucking funny and effective, drawing out all of the subtext in their dynamic and tweaking it to the song to prove, yeah, hey, they do sleep together. Snerk.

Possession (Sentinel) by Remy -- The vidder actually has a last name, but it was left off the playlist; and I think there were co-vidders, but anyway. Whoa...okay, I think I said there were two vids that stole the show for me, but in truth, I'd have to say three. Part of the kick of this one was the sheer unexpectedness of it--it was a mail-in vid by an unknown vidder, wasn't on the playlist, used an overly familiar Sarah McLachlan song that's deeply associated with Due South, etc. And, oh my god, the entire room fell dead silent after the first thirty seconds and just drank it in, stunned. This was brilliantly different, and heartbreaking, using clips that few other vidders have used, and in a combination that was utterly fresh, and used--wait for it--stills. Stills, my god. With beautiful dissolves in between. And Jo, in the vid review, brought up the fact that she'd posted about the technique--kinestasis--on vidder a while back. I'd wanted to mention that but couldn't think of the name. So let me describe this impressionistically: we start with a pan across the city, with dissolves, shot of the rain on the window glass in "Remembrance," shots of Jim as a child, cut with shots of him in the jungle and in the Army, with these quiet, angsty, acoustic lyrics speaking of pain and loneliness and solitude and memory. Themes of his losses, of his angst with his father, of past loves and pains--and then we get to the first chorus and we begin to see shots of the loft--static shots, dissolving into one another--an empty couch, a softly shining lamp left on, the door to Blair's room open. Emptiness. No Blair. And you're thinking how new and different this is, and it's building into something haunting, and you're beginning to get it--where's Blair, this feels like a Jim/Blair vid, but where are the shots of him, the endless shots of him that any other vidder would use, has used, ad nauseum? There are none--and we segue to the second verse, and we get some of the old betrayals and confusions in Jim's life. And this is Jim's life, this is the mostly heavily possible Jim POV I've ever seen in a vid, and yet it's all building again to echoes of Blair; he's the haunting presence in all of this. And we get the line, "You speak to me in riddles" and we see that classic shot of Blair's sneakered feet in the pilot, walking toward the examining room, but here it's poignant and the detachment of that shot--no body--is totally in tone with the strange isolation of the song. Jim's isolation. And the next chorus, we get still shots again, except--oh, man--the stills start in the living room of the loft and slowly climb the stairs, from the center of the room, to the lamp by the bottom of the stairs, to the stairs themselves, to a view looking out over the loft from Jim's bedroom. It nearly makes your heart stop to watch this: this motion from motionlessness, the progression of imaginary seduction, so painfully sad. And...whoosh. I can't convey this vid. Not at all. Except to say that every fan in the room who was ever into Sentinel was just ripped apart by it. And we have differing interpretations of what it all means--it's complex enough for multiple readings. Was this about Blair's death, or was it just about Jim's loneliness and detachment, his inability to reach out for what's right there in his life? Anyway. I don't even know if this vid is on the con tape. I'll cry if it isn't.

So, that was the vid show--and not even half of it. I left out plenty of others that were damn good. And even the ones that weren't good were interesting. My mind bends just thinking about it.

Saturday night, post vid show, we all wandered around in a hyper daze, then a bunch of us ended up back in our room and half-crashed, and watched an episode of Smallville--Hug. We sort of had what you might call the DVD commentary viewing, and I can't say anything more about that for, ahem, security reasons, but I feel thrilled to have had the opportunity for some inner dish about the production.

Sunday morning, I went to the vid review, and didn't get to stay nearly long enough, then went to the blog panel, which I need to talk about in a separate entry, I think, because I have a lot to say. {g} After that, Jane, Rache, Shoshanna, Cody, Kat, Laura A. and I went to lunch and I ate yet another burger and we talked almost entirely about blogs, and I got to yammer on with all the things I didn't get to say at the panel itself, and everyone else said cool things and it was maybe the best group conversation I had all weekend, and I took notes on my napkin. I'll save all that too for the blog-only meta entry.

Returned to the hotel to find I'd missed Sandy's "Slash-Me Moment" panel, damn it, which is a crying shame, because she's one of the best moderators ever: funny and witty and organized, and always conscious of getting other people to talk rather than lecturing. I did sit in on the very end, and she made me reveal my Buffy/Spike hetness, which went over sooo well, not, but I think I redeemed myself by briefly amusing the crowd. Heh.

And then it wound down--I tried to find everyone who needed hugging, who I wasn't going to see again for a year, and wandered around, and rewatched some vids, and got group photos taken, and so on. And I checked out and headed to the airport, deeply blissed and dead tired. Sat for a bit with Laura Shapiro and Cody, who were taking an earlier flight, and discovered Kass Rachel and I were on the same flight, though sadly not together. And I had another drink on the big plane home, and mellowed out, listening to CDs while fantasizing about a weirdly AU Spike/Xander story that I've been carrying in my head for over a week now. Damn me. Am resolving to return to my Spuffy Noir today and do some writing. Yay for Presidents' Day, which I didn't even realize was today--someone told me at the con and I was like, "No shit?! You mean I don't have to work Monday!?" Jeez. Beautiful.

Other notes...I was just a manic little fangirl at the con. I arrived mellow, with no high expectations--just wanted to have fun, get away from it all. And I kept getting more and more tightly wound as each day progressed, in the wildly giddy way that sometimes resembles anxiety. I babbled. I mean, really. I have this way of talking when I'm hyper which is rambling and at times incoherent, as I search for words, and meta. I'm very meta, very self-referential--I'll often digress to talk about how I'm talking. People seem to think my babble is cute, though. I got told often that I was cute. I cling to this, because otherwise I'll sink into certainty that I was very obnoxious.

A lot of people have high drama at cons, apparently, but there were no such moments for me this weekend--as with last year, it was just fuzzy and happy and wonderful. There are a few tiny things I could snark about, in a lightly mocking way, but I don't feel the need to tarnish the glow I'm still carrying around with me.

That's all for now. I've been writing for hours. Gah. Must go eat and then write other things.

posted 2.18.2002 @ 1:37pm -- right-click here to grab a link


 
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