Are you writing a novel in November? I haven’t participated in National Novel Writing Month in quite some time. I tried it one year, and realized that I had a lot of the same feelings as Maggie Stiefvater. I felt rushed for word count and didn’t feel I achieved the quality of my earlier writing if I had been going at my own pace.
By Anna Davies
Remakes, reboots and sequels have been a Hollywood staple for most of the film industry’s history. Some of Hollywood’s most acclaimed films were actually remakes including classics like Scarface, Sent of a Woman, and The Departed. Yet in the past decade, as cinema attendances have dropped, studios are becoming more dependent on the increased likelihood of returns that remakes, reboots and sequels offer.
As of August 31, Den of Geek report that were 121 remakes currently in the works, either in production or waiting to be green lit. This ranges from classics such as Hitchcock’s The Birds to previous box office and critical disasters like Dungeons and Dragons. Even directors who are revered as some of the most groundbreaking storytellers in the industry are returning to past franchises. Ridley Scott has revisited the Alien series twice while James Cameron will return to produce Terminator 6.
One of the main reasons for the large volume of sequels and remakes is that they are easy for studios to market. There is, in most cases, already a market and brand recognition that comes with the film. A good example of this is the upcoming Hellboy remake which will be released next year. The first Hellboy, directed by Guillermo de Toro, struggled to find an audience despite being well received by critics as the character wasn’t well known outside of fans of the comic. The 2018 reboot in comparison will be able to build on the public awareness of de Toro’s two films. For film studios this takes half the battle out of promoting a new film.
It also allows companies who are associated with the media to reboot their products. Slingo who have several slot games dedicated to the superhero genre recently added a new Hellboy title to coincide with the rebooted film which joins other games such as a Terminator 2 slot and Dark Knight Rises game. Players are more likely to play a game based on a character they know than an original character. If the Hellboy game had been released at the same time as the first Hellboy film, there would not be the same recognition. As both the film and gaming industry rely on building strong audience awareness, it is clear why remakes and sequels mean big business for both.
Original stories are struggling to find an audience in the crowded schedule of remakes and sequels. In his post Is ‘Originality Overrated’, Gareth S. Young wrote that of the fifty biggest films of all time 70% of them were sequels. With the exception of Christopher Nolan (who achieved mainstream success through rebooting the Batman franchise) very few directors have the clout to make big budget original films. Many directors are now turning to digital streaming platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime to make original films. David Ayer publicly declared that Netflix offered much more creative freedom while promoting his Netflix original film Bright. The streaming platform gave him $90 million to put his vision on the screen.
Already, a divide is happening where cinema equals tent pole/sequel/remake and the internet and TV equals originality. If this does become the case it will be a huge blow to watching original films on the big screen. Cinema is the natural home of original storytelling and it should stay that way.
by Neesa Suncheuri
I float in air with my
Every motion. I am envied.
Such is cultural
Wisp of air,
by Neesa Suncheuri
“You should apply for conservatories for college! You’re very talented.” Such was the advice of my high school orchestra teacher. I studied privately with her husband, who was a violist in the New York Philharmonic. I put in applications to audition for seven conservatories.
Although I felt confident in my playing, I never could practice as much as I wanted. I always experienced despair in my mind:
You suck. Stop playing.
I could never push through. I always put the instrument down after an hour. If I didn’t, I would end up in tears. But giving up made me guilty.
You’re lazy. Practice more.
A vicious cycle, even though I did my best to counter it. I took Prozac and had weekly sessions with a therapist. Only three years earlier, I spent two weeks in a psychiatric hospital for teens.
I began undergraduate studies at the conservatory at Indiana University, Bloomington. Even though I could not practice as much as I needed, I approached music-making with enthusiasm. Private lessons with my professor were the pinnacle of my week.
“When you play this section, act as if you’re playing with a fun toy.” My professor was an inspiration, and nothing was more enjoyable than performing in his masterclasses. Not a drop of stage-fright affected me as I played for the other students.
“You’re a diamond in the rough. We must polish you so that you shine.” My professor’s comment made me proud.
During college, I kept up with weekly therapy and monthly medication management appointments. I maintained myself well in the beginning, but things began to go south by junior year. Every day after orchestra rehearsals, I walked home and spent my nights alone. I saw myself slipping behind in my studies, and became envious my colleagues as they pulled ahead of me.
I then met a few people who were affiliated with a spiritual meditation practice on campus. We became fast friends.
“Our guru in India is our guide. He imbues us with his divinity, and we digest his holy food, becoming lighter and more enlightened.”
This divinity can make me a better violist.
I formally joined the meditation group and earnestly took up their practice. It seemed to work at first. I began approaching viola playing as a sort of physical yoga. I strove to cultivate spiritual energy in my body. A new sense of motivation affected me, yet my professor was confused.
“What is happening? You are getting worse in your playing.”
“I don’t understand! I’m practicing harder than ever! You don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t want to study with you anymore!” On a dime, I turned against my beloved professor.
Meditating ultimately failed to provide any benefit. Clearing my mind only made room for other thoughts, seemingly coming from elsewhere.
There is energy you can see, which no one else can.
Inanimate objects and people alike now had “auras,” chock full of information. People whom I previously perceived as benign had new, hostile auras. When a person entered a room, the collective energy in the room changed. All of this was fascinating, yet distracting.
After my first semester of graduate studies on viola, I returned home to New York and participated in a chamber music festival. When commuting to and from rehearsals, stimuli overwhelmed me.
This picture of the ocean on that subway ad…I feel its breeze on my face.
That dog is sexy.
My nose is bleeding. It’s my heart crying. That happened twice.
During string quartet rehearsals, I believed I could control the other musicians. When I played “angrily” at a person, they would grow wide-eyed and yield to me. I felt powerful.
Right before New Year’s, I had a ticket to see an orchestral concert at Carnegie Hall. During my commute, my mind suddenly shut down completely.
I am so cold and weak…I haven’t eaten meat in over a year…I haven’t dressed warmly in the cold …I’ve been eating lemons to stay warm…My head is hollow…
The sudden realization of these feelings overwhelmed me. I gasped for air, grabbing a pole in the subway for support. I emerged above ground as the evening snows swirled around me, disoriented. With a hungry stomach, I staggered into a pizza place.
“I need pepperoni pizza! Meat!” I bawled as I scarfed down precious food. My tears locked my mind into solitude.
“Ma’am? Are you alright?” An EMS worker came to intervene, presumably summoned by the pizza people. “We’re going to take you to a good place.”
Back to the psychiatric hospital. My diagnosis changed to schizoaffective disorder. New medications covered my delusions under a blanket of sedation, which helped somewhat. I vowed never to meditate again. When returning to conservatory, my new viola professor handled me with kid gloves.
“You don’t need to be a professional. You can play in a community orchestra someday.”
With a heavy heart, I dropped out of graduate school. While my professional musician ambitions were dashed, my lot in life was revitalized. By giving up music, I now had the chance to discover new aspects of myself.
I started doing artistic modeling for photographers.
I went on dates with people from OkCupid.
I revived my German language skills from high school and corresponded with many pen pals in Germany, attaining conversational fluency.
I attended a closed audition for America’s Next Top Model, during which I encountered two contestants later chosen for that season.
None of these experiences could have manifested if I had remained a musician. Perhaps it is a good thing once in a while, to give up talent in favor of living a more varied life.
Neesa Suncheuri works as a mental health peer specialist at a housing agency in Queens, New York. She is the founder of a Facebook discussion group for peer specialists and other recovery enthusiasts, entitled “What is Wellness? A Mental Health Discussion Group.” Much of her creative inspiration is rooted in her now-tamed schizophrenia. She is a singer/songwriter, and performs in various venues in the city. She writes poetry, maintains a blog and is currently working on a memoir. Follow her on Twitter at @aquariumspeaks.
by Stephen Hardman
I’ve never been what you would call a huge Spider-Man fan. I’ve picked up various titles over my years of comic-book reading and enjoyed them, but maybe not to the same degree as other characters and other series. I guess my loyalties were set from an early age when I first started reading comics in the late Eighties/early Nineties: for a good number of years the only mainstream superhero titles I read featured Batman, and the rest of my weekly comic fix was made up of various independent and less mainstream titles. There was little room for anything else.