These three things happened last time on D.O.X. is Dead! (With the proper music, of
course.)
Firstly, two dangerously-deadly rival characters are revealed -- the rough-necked
punk, Coil, and the bruising beauty, Kath!
Secondly, the story’s revamped concepts take the stage, with the idea of
power discussed furiously at length!
And thirdly, two MORE characters of the core cast of eight make their debut --
the king of normalcy, Johnny, and the queen-sized wallflower Maddie!
And that’s about it for
the recap. So let’s get into the post
proper. First things first, though:
Count the words! The number of
words appearing in this post is…!
Man, Kamen Rider OOO is just too good. I seriously need to do a post on it one day.
Okay. So I’m pretty sure I said this already
somewhere else (long, long ago, I’d bet), but for posterity’s sake I’ll go
ahead and say it again. There’s
absolutely no way I could have put out one of Dead on Prime’s earlier forms -- D.O.X., AKA V2, or Dead Over
Two, AKA V1 -- with a straight face.
Not unless I wanted someone to laugh me off of the planet. Sure, they might have been good enough (which
would make the complete overhaul that is DoP
an exercise in second-guess-bred futility), but I’m not wholly convinced
they would have been good period.
You don’t have to look
any further than this blog to know why…well, assuming you’ve read more than
just the post before this one. I made
this blog to take a good hard look at video games, and movies, and the like --
probing stories to see what works and what doesn’t. Even if my words haven’t exactly set the
world on fire, they’ve proven immensely useful to me -- just as I hoped they
would. I once said on another blog that
you could feasibly learn how to write a good story just by doing the opposite
of what (most) video games do. While
you’d have to know what exactly to
throw aside first, I still feel like I can stand by those words.
As always, it’s all
about the execution. A save-the-world
plot with a terrible cast doesn’t stand a chance. But if you can give an audience a strong set
of heroes, then you’ve got a MUCH better shot at carving out a win. That’s not to say you’ll get an automatic
win; just because some people like your cast (or if you like the cast…or, alternatively,
your mom likes them) doesn’t mean everyone will. So as the creator, it’s up to you to make
sure the audience has as many things to latch onto as possible. Give ‘em a nice setting! Give ‘em a plot bound to leave them
breathless! Give ‘em with themes that’ll
leave them shouting “DEEP AND MEANINGFUL” into every internet forum in…well,
the internet!
But you know what? In light of Cross-Up, and everything I’ve
seen for its sake, I have a personal rule: if
you’re going to make a save-the-world plot, then the world has to matter.
As
I’ve said, that was one of DmC’s
fatal flaws (out of many). It would have
had you believe that the demons masquerading as businessmen, news anchors, and
creepy lion-faced women controlled the world by controlling the minds of the
people -- turning them into brainwashed slaves as they sucked the money from
their pockets. But you’re lucky to see
those “slaves” in any more than three cutscenes, and even then for a couple of
seconds at a time. No interaction with
them, no voicing of their dissent (or lack thereof), and no proof of being
anything more than average citizens. All
tell, no show. Just an empty world for
the “good guys” to dance their way through.
Compare
that to a game like Devil Survivor 2. Japan gets wrecked by an invasion of demons
(and geometric alien things), and the main cast has to scramble to figure out
how to survive a seven-day trial -- that, or accept impending doom. But it becomes more than just a quest to beat
the bad guy; it’s about ideologies clashing as the empowered must decide and
debate how best to rebuild the broken world.
Can the team give food and medical supplies to the needy? Should they?
What happens when riots break out and terrorist cells form up out of
desperation? Are you willing to hurt the
innocent for the sake of your goals?
Heavy stuff, to be sure, but it makes the game much stronger.
Not the anime,
though. We do not speak of the anime.
The point I’m trying to
make is that each story has to keep its scale in mind. Not every story has to deal with the problems
plaguing the world, or a city, or even the space outside the lead’s house. You can get a lot out of a focused, personal
tale, because presumably you’ve got a cast that’s good enough to do the work
for you. Still, you can increase that
scale -- and get plenty out of it -- by taking into consideration what your
story/setting can offer. Flesh it out,
unpack it, whatever you call it; the more thought you put in, the more tools
you give yourself.
I’m not saying that as
some master of the craft. I’m saying it
as someone who figured it out through revisions small and large. Back in V1/V2, leading man Arc was a smug
smartass who thought he had all the answers, and combined with the intense
focus on his problems (and his thoughts, by extension), it made for a more
reductive story. He got better as the
story went on, but I’d bet that that narrowing hampered the enjoyment factor
from the get-go. What was his town
like? What were the people around him
like? What set everything besides Arc -- and any other cast member
-- apart from any given urban fantasy?
I’m hard-pressed to come up with an answer.
Whereas V1/V2 had New
Rock City, V3 has New Line City -- the size of which, while indeterminate from
text alone, at the very least feels larger.
Part of that comes from an increased attention to detail, and the fact
that transportation around the city part
of the city is a common concern for our heroes.
But it also comes from the cast; Arc is still less-than-welcoming
(pre-character development), but he’s a much more mellow character. More tolerant, to an extent; he’ll only lash
out if people really get on his
nerves, so even if there is something he doesn’t agree with, he’ll live and let
live. He’ll play the observer, and
choose to do things his way while others do theirs. So,
because he takes note of others, the audience does too.
Arc has his character
-- and an unrepentantly bold one, at that -- but his development comes in
relation to the world around him. As the
plot unfolds, he has to consider the world in a way he never has before, and
decide just what sort of person (let alone hero) he wants to be. Or to be more specific, the crux of his
development is him realizing that he needs to be much more than just some
sharp-tongued street fighter…the problem being that he has to figure out how to help people. Given the context of the story, that’s not as
easy as you think it is.
It’s said almost
flat-out that beating the big bad isn’t enough to set things right -- so it’s
up to him and the others to redefine themselves in the context of the
world. What do they want? What are they supposed to be? Do they have the power to fulfill their
desires, however noble or however selfish?
How far into the depths are they willing to go -- for justice, for
greed, or just an end to their individual despair?
Each member of the Core
8, to varying degrees, imparts change on the world around them. Why?
It’s because the world -- the circumstances, and the people in it --
changes them right back. That’s how it
should be; fictional or not, no man exists inside a vacuum. So you have some characters learning what it
means to be a hero, trusting in others and sticking out their necks for causes
small and large. BUT you’ve also got
characters forced to grow up -- to realize that there are dangers, sorrows, and
even injustices that can break anyone in two.
Incidental characters
will make that happen. Events across the
story’s timeline will make that happen.
Interactions between the Core 8, the people of New Line, or even a
single detail of the so-called “city of broken dreams” will make that
happen. I can tell you right now that
something that happens in the first chapter will have huge ramifications down the line.
I know how to play the long game.
Long story short, this
story is Devil Survivor meets Under the Dome with a dash of The Avengers. With Kamen
Rider Wizard thrown in for good measure.
But you didn’t hear
that from me.
I’m making this sound a
lot more complicated than it really is.
I can tell you right now that even if there are some themes throughout
and depths explored, this isn’t some weighty tale designed to go off the rails
into a dime-store philosophy lesson. This
is a story with ghost-punching, so it should have more than a little emphasis
on ghost-punching. So even with the
essential flourishes, Dead on Prime is
still as straightforward as it gets: the world’s in danger, so people come
together to fight off evil and keep the peace.
Easy.
Again, it’s about the
execution. How you do it is almost
always going to be more important than what you do. (Consider that your first and last Voltech Pro Tip.) Now, I can’t speak for everyone out there,
because everyone is different, and every story will have wildly different needs.
Likewise, every creator is going to have different requirements and
tastes that’ll shape their potential magnum opus. And that’s cool. But speaking personally, I have to do
something that’s not at all surprising to anyone who’s spent more than a
picosecond on this blog (on more posts than this one): it’s gotta be about
those highs and lows.
More specifically? My stories have GOT to have heart.
That’s
non-negotiable. Setting aside the fact
that I would be a damn dirty hypocrite if I created some charmless, po-faced
slog without a hint of irony, I know that my stuff works best when there’s a
good balance. I can do those serious
moments. I can go into “you’re gonna
have a bad time” mode. I can put good
people in VERY bad situations (like meeting a serial killer in chapter one). Terrible things happen on a regular basis,
and there’s one section of the plot in particular that’s the most unrelenting
form of a Hope
Spot I’ve made yet.
The counterbalance to
all of that is, paradoxically, that Dead
on Prime is a lot funnier and warmer than versions past. I’m better at comedy now than I was even at
the tail end of V2’s lifespan -- possibly because I started watching Modern Family semi-recently (or, you
know, because of I Hraet You). So certain lines, events, and reactions are
enough to actually get a smile out of me -- which is the best outcome my
writing can hope for -- while ensuring that I can take a firm stand against the
doom and gloom of my own creation.
If I had to guess, I’d
say that the improvements come from more than just practice. It comes from a better understanding of what
a story needs to achieve, mine or otherwise.
Think of it this way: if you reduce every story to its absolute basest,
you can think of it as a game of connect the dots. This happens, so this happens, and then this
happens, and so on. Everything proceeds
in a logical order. Everything feeds into the next dot, so that when all’s said
and done you can have the big picture -- and a good picture, at that one. Easy enough.
But like any good video
game, it’s all about creating illusions.
Even if you are connecting the dots (albeit with untold thousands of
words), there are ways to make it less transparent. I didn’t do that with V1/V2. The characters didn’t feel organic, and
neither did the events. I knew that
there had to be setup for the sake of (and strength of) a payoff, but thinking
back it was as regimented as all get out.
I pretty much went
BEEP-BEEP-BOOP-BOOP-SETUP-SETUP-SETUP-JOKE-SETUP-EVENT-EVENT-SETUP-EVENT-PAYOFF. For some it might have gotten a pass, but I’d
bet that those with an eye even a little sharp could have pointed at it and
said “Was this written by a robot?”
The problem, I bet, was
that my ulterior motives showed every step of the way. Dialogue and scenes existed to tell the
reader what each character was all about, rather than have the character show it through natural motions. Sure, characters are supposed to be loci of
ideas, but the way I did it in the past made them much too transparent. Clumsy, and certainly unnatural.
Let’s take second banana
Katie as an example. Back in V2 (and V1
especially), her purpose wasn’t so much about being a character, but a means to
set up her character -- to move the pieces to their proper places for that
distant payoff. She may have had scenes
where she walked through school with her friends, talked with Arc on the phone,
and chilled out in her room, but those scenes pretty much telegraphed the
trajectory of the plot.
“I AM REINFORCING THE
THEMES OF THE STORY,” she might as well have said. Or “I WILL NOW ANNOUNCE THE PLOT TWIST, WHICH
WILL BE A SURPRISE WHEN IT HAPPENS BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT PLOT TWISTS DO.” That’s not being a character. And that goes double for Kath, who in her first
scene more or less went “YOU ARE NOT THE CHARACTER EXPECTED OF YOU BY THE
AUDIENCE AND WILL THUS COME INTO CONFLICT WITH EVERYONE. ADDITIONALLY, I AM YOUR FOIL, IN MORE WAYS
THAN OUR BODY TYPES. ALLOW ME TO EXPLAIN
WHY.”
It may be years before
I, personally, completely mask the ulterior motives needed to move the plot and
make the story what it is. But at least
this time around, I’m much more competent; there’s more subtlety now than there
was back then, at least. Here’s an
important distinction: in her second scene, Katie Kaylee rides on a tram
with Arc, finishing off a big burger. The
plot (and a new threat) kicks in a little later, but until then? It’s just a scene that lets the two of them
talk. Have a conversation. Show who they are, and even if they trade
jokes and insults, they’re still a couple of kids that care about each
other. It’s a scene that exists for its
own sake, not for some distant event in the future.
But that’s not the only
example. Kaylee expresses her rightful
concerns early on, but much like her partner Arc, she chooses to press on
regardless. Still, that won’t stop her
from doing what anyone would do, crisis or otherwise: go home and spend time
with the family. She yuks it up with her
mom and dad (who are secretly some of my favorite characters, if only because
they’re decidedly OTT) and eats her fair share of burgers while going over a
couple of current events. And then Kath
shows up, and rather than have her remind the reader of THE SHEER WEIGHT AND
IMPORTANCE OF THE IMPENDING PLOT, she makes the party much, much, much crazier.
Kath’s introduction
scene shows you -- barring her hidden depths -- exactly what sort of character
she is. Meanwhile, you get to see even
more of what kind of person Kaylee is -- what she values, what she says and
does, and what she ultimately wants to protect when it comes time to punch some
ghosts. Details large and small (with
more small ones than you’d expect throughout the story, meaning maybe I CAN be
subtle) add to these people and their world instead of just hammering in the
obvious and/or unnecessary. People
actually get to be people.
And when they get to be
people, they get to be more than just mouthpieces, puppets, or plot
devices. They get to have heart, because
they can find themselves in situations where they can show off their
hearts. That’s what helps make Dead on Prime much stronger than its
predecessors; the mechanical progression has been replaced by an organic
rhythm. It’s not so much about proving its merit as it is…well, just
being a story. It’s just about getting a
good cast together in a world on the line between despair and hope -- and
giving them the tools to save it, as well as the tools needed to show why
saving New Line City even matters.
Because if they don’t have lives worth saving, why should they or anyone
else care?
Past iterations
probably couldn’t have given a solid answer.
But this one? I’ve got a good
feeling about this one.
And that’ll do it for
this post. Lucky seven’s all done, and
set for the record books. Next time,
it’ll be the most major of posts: the last two members of the core cast of
eight will finally be revealed.
Better start praying
for me now. These two might make or
break the story -- and I’m pretty sure they
broke it last time.
I AM BEING OMINOUS AND
FORESHADOWING A CRITICAL MISSTEP IN PAST ITERATIONS. YOU WILL NOW EXUDE FEAR YET BE ENDEARED BY MY
CANDOR.
Man, Fourze was pretty good too.
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