John Carter, Sad Hero of Mars

Posted: March 23, 2012 in Action Movies, Braak, crotchety ranting, reviews
Tags: , , , , ,

Well, word is that John Carter (of Mars) isn’t going to do so well – certainly not enough to make back its budget, or merit any sequels. This is kind of a shame, because I think it was pretty much a lot of fun, but at least now I can talk about what I think was a kind of a glaring problem with the story that I’d have felt guilty talking about before.

I know that Michael Chabon worked on the script for this movie, and who am I to tell Michael Chabon anything? No one, obviously, I’m just following in my tradition of telling Jonathon Franzen that his rules for writing are terrible, and that apparently getting an MFA in playwriting from Yale doesn’t mean you know anything about writing plays. I am opinionated and narcissistic, and that is what qualifies me to be a blogger.

ANYWAY, as some of you may or may not have heard, John Carter (of Mars) enjoyed the addition of a tragic backstory to his character: while he was serving in the Confederate army, evil Union soldiers came to his house and killed his wife and daughter, who he then had to bury. This was not a feature of the book (really, the book doesn’t dwell on Carter’s life on Earth very much at all because on the real: John Carter OF MARS. Let’s get to the good stuff, you know?); in the movie it causes John Carter to be very sad, so he doesn’t join the regular army after the war, and instead goes out west and tries to find a cave of gold to, I guess, assuage his loss with incalculable personal wealth.

I don’t think that’s how it works, but maybe there was a lesson about the failures of materialism to provide for psychological well-being that got cut out of the final draft (Michael Chabon, if you are reading this, can you weigh in?).

I think this was wrongheaded for a number of reasons and, as you might expect, I am now going to explain what I think those reasons are.

The Sad Hero

Every once in a while, you’ll get someone telling you that they like the fact that the hero of a story has something to brood over because it “humanizes them.” I’m not sure if that’s a real statement or not; I mean, I know people have really said it, but I always get the feeling that they say it not because they really feel like a character is more human because he’s sad that his wife and child were killed, but because they think that it’s true according to The Rules of Character that a character is more human if they are glum. Maybe this critic has internalized too many short story writer’s guidelines from fantasy magazines, which always make an especial effort to point out that your hero is boring if he’s completely invincible.

But “completely invincible” isn’t the same thing as “just in a pretty okay mood,” and there are actually a lot of ways a character can seem “human” without having something horrible to brood over. I mean, I know a lot of humans, and I think that most of them haven’t suffered a terrible tragedy. I don’t ever get those people confused with robots, you know? “Oh, are you sure you have feelings? How can you know if you’ve never had to bury your murdered wife and child?”

Even the people I do know who’ve suffered tragedy – like the loss, at a young age, of a parent – don’t spend all their time talking about it. In fact, often they don’t spend any time talking about it. They seem so normal and well-adjusted that if you didn’t know they’d suffered a tragic loss, then you’d be hard-pressed to guess it.

The problem with the argument that loss and sadness are what makes a character human is that it privileges against normalcy – I mean, like, psychological normalcy. Coming to terms with a loss is normal, but if you think that brooding over a sad thing is what makes a person human, then “humanity” becomes at odds with “normalcy”: every sad hero is defined not by how the story has “humanized” them – i.e., made them seem like a human instead of a robot – but by how disrupted their psychology is. And the fact of the matter is that the history of cinema is littered with some pretty big-name heroes who aren’t disconsolate over some horrible loss, just constantly drinking and looking at themselves in the mirror and getting really angry when they see their reflection and punching it, or something. I guess that’s what sad heroes do.

All of which isn’t to say that sad heroes are bad, necessarily. In fact, sometimes tragic heroes are great, especially in comparison to regular old heroes.

It’s just that “sadness” isn’t a prerequisite, and if you’re going to use it, it’s probably a good idea to make sure that you need it before you throw it into your story.

The Hero’s Journey

So, I’ve gone on record saying that I think that Joseph Campbell’s notion of the Hero’s Journey is a blight on screenwriting – not because it’s wrong, but because it makes it too easy for writers to check off the “journey” boxes and call it a day. It’s like a recipe for phoning in a story.

Compounded to this is the addition to what is otherwise an okay formula of the Tragic Loss. Here are the elements of the mythic Hero’s Journey and you’ll notice what they don’t include: anything about losing a mother or a father or a wife or a husband or a daughter or a son or a sister or a brother. There’s no personal loss at all. Even the notion of the Call to Adventure, while it CAN be about personal loss (my parents were murdered in an alley), it doesn’t HAVE to be (I came to a city that is beset by giant sea serpents). The idea of personal loss is, in a lot of senses, actually too small for real heroism; it undermines the notion of what being “heroic” is. Consider poor John Carter, who finally joins the fight against Zodanga, the Predator City, not because it is a PREDATOR CITY RULED BY A GENOCIDAL MADMAN, but because he is in love with the princess and feels sad about his dead wife.

I know that in writing class they tell you that you need to make the stakes personal for your character, but that’s bullshit. A person isn’t some kind of weirdo freak because he sees people struggling against a monstrous and intractable adversary and decides to help them. Or else, at least we should be able to recognize that empathy with strangers IS personal. You don’t need to have a literal personal loss to decide that it’s okay to help another person.

Sure, of course, sometimes that sense of personal loss can drive a character, but it’s not the death that motivates, it’s the change in perspective (see the Hero’s Journey again, and the part called “Viewing the Whole Picture”). Spider-Man doesn’t fight crime to avenge his Uncle Ben; the death of his uncle is a catalyst that made him realize that he has a responsibility to use his powers for good. Even Batman isn’t really waging a war of revenge, for all whatever he calls himself. Only Batman written at his craziest really imagines that “Crime” is an actual thing that he is fighting back against because of what it took from him – Batman at his best is a man who doesn’t want to see what happened to him happen to anyone else. The tragic backstory is a motivation for a change in perspective, and it’s the perspective – the essential realization of global responsibility – that’s the heroic part.

And because it’s the SENSE that’s the heroic part, it’s perfectly reasonable to make a hero that already started out with that perspective. Look, there are a lot of assholes who will tell you that if they got super-powers, they would act like assholes. That’s because those people are assholes. Any person who’d use more power to push other people around probably does the same thing with the power that they’ve already got. There are loads of people who, if they got power, would actually go out and do good with it – people who are actually hoping that they get power SO that they can do good with it. We know this, because there are people with power who DO good with it. It happens all the time. Not every rich dude needs to have a niece get shot in the Sudan to think that maybe Darfur is worth getting involved in; not every politician needs a relative to come out of the closet to be sympathetic to gays. Some people are already sympathetic to people who aren’t them.

Remember how this happens, and then Luke Skywalker NEVER MENTIONS IT AGAIN?

Of course, some people start out as anti-heroes, which is one of the things that makes Star Wars a pretty good movie: it’s actually two heroes’ journeys – actually, one Hero’s Journey split into two pieces. It’s Luke Skywalker who receives the Call to Adventure and has to move beyond his comfort zone, but he also doesn’t need to be convinced that it’s the right thing to do. (See John Roger’s “Right Man for the Job” argument, but do not forget that the new Star Trek movie did not make a god-damn lick of sense.) Skywalker is ready to leave home from day one, and is on mission the entire time. There’s no refusing the call, no change to a global perspective that makes him realize the Empire is worth fighting.

Saving the day despite suffering no personal loss? WORST CHARACTER EVER.

It’s Han Solo who gets the other half of the Journey. There’s a second Call, when they invite Han Solo to leave his comfortable life of cynicism and crime so that he can fight the Empire, and he Refuses it – only to eventually return with a new perspective. Of course, Han Solo didn’t need anyone to die in order for him to do the right thing, and he didn’t need anyone to die in order for him to want to not participate in a rebellion, and that’s because, as we saw in Part One up there, tragedy isn’t the only thing that can reasonably motivate a person. Regular old common sense is a pretty strong reason to not want to take your modded-out cargo ship to war with an invincible intergalactic power that has a planet killing space-station the size of a moon. And “friendship” is actually a pretty decently strong motivation to convince a man to risk his life anyway. You don’t need someone to die to know that some things are worth risking your life for.

Character Isn’t Backstory

But more problematic that being simply unnecessary, both at a thematic and a practical level, is the way that the elements of John Carter’s story are told: in flashbacks, that plague him especially when he is fighting the Warhoons. The problem with this is that backstory isn’t the same thing as character.

“Character” in the abstract is just the way that a person onscreen (or in a book) responds to events. When faced with insurmountable odds, do they run away? Do they turn and fight? What is the character’s attitude? Glib? Serious? Calm? Frenetic? Those things are character. Backstory is just backstory, and a lot of time it doesn’t matter. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that backstory never matters unless it specifically matters, which nine times out of ten, it doesn’t.

Let’s look at three pretty good examples: John McClain and Martin Riggs (the main characters of the two best Christmas movies in the world [Die Hard and Lethal Weapon, respectively]), and also John Rambo (just in First Blood for the purposes of this argument, though).

John McClain: not really that sad a backstory, you know? A little sad, I guess.

Now, the backstory between John McClain and his wife, Holly, is spelled out a little bit in the movie, but you know what there aren’t? Fucking flashbacks. There’s not even any explanation for what went wrong in their marriage, per se: we’re told literally as much as we need to know (John McClain is aggravating, which Holly says specifically when she realizes that he is loose in the building, not just to say it; he and Holly are on the outs; she and the kids moved to LA and John is coming to visit them for Christmas). The character of John McClain is revealed through his innumerable actions, not forays into the story of his failed marriage. That would be a movie about his failed marriage, instead of Die Hard. The only time the backstory actually matters is when it specifically motivates the plot, which it does – Holly uses her maiden name when she talks to Hans Gruber, and when he finds out she and McClain are married, he tries to use her as leverage. Not only is it relevant to the plot, but it uses only the bare minimum of backstory provided.

Martin Riggs: definitely very sad.

Consider Martin Riggs. What we know about him is that he was in Vietnam (actually with a secret assassination squad in Laos, I think), and that his wife died in a car accident. We intuit that he loved his wife, and that she was probably the touchstone of normalcy that kept him from going off the rails. We don’t need to see flashbacks illustrating how messed up Riggs is, because we see him being messed up. “Lost his wife” isn’t a character trait, it’s backstory. “Suicidal” is a character trait, and we learn about that because we see it. You don’t need to know anything more about Riggs’ wife than what you learn in the very beginning of the movie, where Riggs contemplates killing himself before going to work.

When Riggs does reveal backstory – when he tells Trish Murtaugh about the night his wife died — it’s not about revealing backstory. We already know everything we need to know about the consequences of that night. What it’s about is Martin Riggs trying to reach out and make a human connection with Trish. It’s not the information (“my wife died and I was sad” is not a character trait); it’s the USE of the information (“I want to have the kind of normal family that the Murtaughs have” IS a character trait).

[Actually, I just wrote that and I think that part was actually from Lethal Weapon II, one of the few instances in which an action movie successfully both carries over and actually progresses a character’s development; it’s a good example though, so I’m keeping it.]

In fact, Riggs’ need for normalcy plays out even more subtly than that in Lethal Weapon; it doesn’t require the revelation of any backstory at all – the movie trusts that we, the audience, are able to figure out that a sad, angry, lonely guy who’s lost his wife and is maybe a little crazy feels good when he is surrounded by Roger Murtaugh’s wholesome, well-adjusted family.

John Rambo: also pretty sad, I think.

John Rambo in First Blood of course is, by my own definition, not really a hero, he’s just the protagonist – but he’s got a tragic backstory, so I’m going to talk about him anyway. With Rambo, that backstory STILL ISN’T IMPORTANT. “Suffered horrors in Vietnam” isn’t a character trait, because it’s in the past tense, and only actions can define character. “Relives the trauma of Vietnam” IS a character trait, and it’s what makes Rambo a compelling character. His backstory is relevant only in the sense that it matters in that it’s a necessary justification for the character trait (obviously, if he hadn’t really, within the context of the story, suffered horrors in Vietnam, then his character would be “imagines suffering the trauma of Vietnam” and then he’d be Walter from The Big Lebowski). The fact that Rambo was in Vietnam is only pertinent in the sense that it explains the flashbacks that he experiences, which themselves are the driving force of the plot. They’re there because they literally cause Rambo to do something; they’re structure, not paint.

The Horrors of War

But let’s say there was a compelling reason to give John Carter a tragic backstory. I can see this, or the beginnings of it, in the movie – he’s cynical, he doesn’t want to get involved in another war. He has to be convinced — like a dumber Han Solo, I guess – that the Bad Guys must be Opposed. Well, all right.

The question remains, why is it that he had to lose his wife and child to evil Union soldiers? There are a couple reviews out there that mention his fighting off the green Martians and flashing back to when he buried his family, and some of those reviews say that this evokes “the horrors of war.” But losing your wife and family isn’t the horrors of war. WAR is the horrors of war. Thousands of Vietnam vets didn’t come back traumatized because the Viet-Cong killed their wives and families. We don’t have veterans from the Afghan War who lost their kids to Al-Qaeda (well, all right, certainly some people lost relatives on September 11th, but that is not a prerequisite for suffering PTSD after Afghanistan).

[I was going to put pictures in this part, but honestly, googling things like “Horrors of War” and “Afghanistan Casualties” makes me both sad and furious. I recommend that you do this if you want to keep asking yourself “What the fuck is WRONG with us?”]

In fact, the three most horrible things that can happen to a human psyche are: 1) Losing someone who is close to you. 2) Suffering injury at the hands of someone you know means you harm. 3) Harming another person who is a stranger. These three things are all built into war itself – even number 1. There’s a reason that the army spends so much time training soldiers to think of each other as comrades in arms, why they dwell on the idea of the Band of Brothers. It’s because people who care about each other fight better together, and what that means is that when soldiers in your unit die, it hurts you. Maybe even just as much as losing a wife and child.

The problem with making a soldier’s trauma about losing his wife and child is actually a symptom of our larger cultural problem with war. The thing about it is that war is the trauma, but that’s not a thing that we can easily say. We have to still lionize war and military prowess, we have to minimize the psychic consequence of war, we have to, at the very least, alleviate our guilt over what we are doing to our soldiers. We are, very literally, expecting them to suffer the worst psychological traumas that human experience has to offer. When we make a movie in which a soldier’s motivation for hating war comes from a personal loss, one outside the official “rules” of war – a civilian loss, instead of an acceptable military consequence – then not only does it allow us the privilege of using the soldier’s trauma as a character trait, but it also forgives us from having to have to judge the war itself.

In Carter’s case, it’s further exacerbated by the fact that he was a Confederate soldier, and we live in a culture that still can’t quite get its glasses on when it comes to looking at that war. Consequently: John Carter can’t be a Confederate cavalryman who suffered pain and anguish and boundless loss as he watched his neighbors and friends and brothers die from cannon and musketballs and gangrene, only to look around and realize that he had killed and seen people killed to defend one of the most vile of institutional evils. He can’t be that guy, who then turns around and says, “Well, I’m done with fucking war.”

He instead has to be a man whose military experiences are completely absent from the movie, whose sole motivating elements are the fact that evil Union soldiers broke the rules and killed his wife and daughter when he wasn’t looking. War is conspicuously absent from Carter’s backstory, and it’s actually what makes his character so flimsy: the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t have anything on Earth that matters to him, he doesn’t have any reason not to join up and fight the sorts of people who will do to the city of Helium what the Union did to him. Carter’s reluctance to court the beautiful princess and fight the evil aliens with their deadly rays doesn’t actually make any sense, because the backstory, as its structured, directly conflicts with it.

Ultimately

Ultimately, this brooding-John-Carter-with-his-tragic-backstory kind of falls apart at all levels. In the first place, there’s not really any specific need for him to brood at all; his tragedy doesn’t give him a global perspective, or motivate him to participate in the plot of the movie; the backstory itself doesn’t really do the only thing it’s supposed to do, which is, as unobtrusively as possible, explain his actions; and the one that they’ve saddled him with actually directly conflicts with the requirements set on him by the plot.

For example: John Carter of Arabia.

I’m not saying that something like this couldn’t have worked, or even that John Carter (of Mars) wasn’t a decent enough character. What I’m saying is that there’s a reason that his character just doesn’t really leave any lasting impression on the audience. It’s because whoever was writing this followed a formula for producing characters: one that required an admixture of backstory and brooding and flashbacks to yield a reluctant hero with a Byronic countenance, without actually paying attention to how those things are supposed to work together.

Alternately: John Carter and the Raiders of the River Iss.

It’s like they somehow made the character backwards – I mean, from the top down, starting with how they wanted him to look and what they wanted him to do, and then kind of shoehorning in a backstory that never quite jived with it. Or else, they started with a backstory – possibly because someone gave them a note that said, “He needs more tragedy in his past, I think that would clear up the Second Act Problems” — and then forgot about it while they were writing the overall action of the movie. This is what we mean when we talk about a character’s actions being “organic” – they proceed in harmony with the available information about the character, such that every piece of information we have about him is both Necessary (in that, the movie would make less sense if you cut it out) and Sufficient (in that absolutely no more information is required in order to understand it).

Ultimately, I don’t know if this is why the movie doesn’t really have legs. I liked it, like I said, it was a fun time, but it didn’t quite stick with me and I think this was a big part of it.

It definitely had some good parts, though.

And for the ladies. Ladies like monster dogs, right?

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Comments
  1. Moff says:

    Yeah, I’ve been rereading The Stand for the first time in about fifteen years, and what has struck me most is: (1) the weaknesses in Stephen King’s writing (I knew they must be there, but I’d also have gone to the mat for him as a Literary Great, whatever that means, in my callow youth), and, much more important, (2) how fucking good he is at characterization. He really is a master of showing rather than telling. He creates these palpable, rounded characters that you just get right away, and it’s mostly because he shows them doing shit and interacting with other people. They’re totally mundane people—even the weird ones—thrown into highly abnormal situations. Nothing new in noting that, but I hope to God some of it rubs off on me this time around.

    (I would add “harming a person you know” to the list of most horrible things, probably before “harming a stranger,” because that is terrible and it happens in war all the time, mostly in the form of having to order someone to go die, basically. I know people who’ve quit their middle-class jobs over having to fire a friend, it was so traumatic, so I think sending one out into enemy fire must be even worse.)

  2. Moff says:

    (The point of that comment was: King’s characters aren’t generally defined by A Great Loss or some shit. They’re defined by the totally ordinary stuff they do.)

    (Maybe Roland the Gunslinger is defined by A Great Loss, but I would argue that in context, that is “ordinary” for him, since he was basically already a towering figure of momentous tragedy at birth.)

  3. Jefferson Robbins says:

    This is all exactly right. Why dither and fret about your dead family? When you’re trapped on Mars with superhuman powers and no reason to go back to Earth, with the promise of a chance to begin a new and better life once the fighting’s done, NOT doing the right thing makes even less sense than usual. A refusal to fight because of Civil War PTSD would have been less questionable, but the only reason we knew Carter was in that war was because everybody said he was. That was never presented as the root of his conflict. The wife and kid stay dead whether you choose to be a hero or not.

    I would love to one day hear some screenwriter postmortem on this dead horse, to learn exactly who made these choice and why. I hope it wasn’t Michael Chabon, but he’s only (a very skilled and highly-paid) human.

  4. […] Threat Quality Press’ Braak making a larger point about heroes while musing on John Carter. […]

  5. Jesse says:

    Yeah, I think there’s definitely some major cultural blindness to the actual horrors of war in our society (well, all of society throughout history, really). Chris Hedges makes the point perfectly in “War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning” — war both accentuates what we think the high points of humanity are (nobility, sacrifice, etc.) while simultaneously subjugating everything that makes us human (compassion, grace, ingenuity, etc.) and turning us into monsters. You don’t have to see someone hurt in a war to hate it; you just have to participate in it.

    My uncle has long suffered from things that happened in Vietnam, but probably moreso from the things that almost happened (like his arming a nuclear warhead on a fighter jet after a mistaken order to do so). The simple act of pulling the safety on that device, even though nothing bad happened, was devastating.

  6. braak says:

    @Moff: I agree about Stephen King, and I think the Stephen King issue actually shows a couple of things: among them, why Stephen King is a really good novelist, why the movies of his books often aren’t very good, and what made Lost so interesting.

    One of the privileges that Stephen King enjoys as a novelist is digression. I think in The Tommyknockers, there’s something like a thirty or forty page flashback explaining this incident that the mayor of the town had to deal with regarding some asshole hillbilly who didn’t like her. It goes on for pages, there’s nothing supernatural about it, it’s just a story of a woman being unruffled by this complete asshole, showing how competent and straightforward she is, all so that we’ll feel sad when she dies in, I think, the next chapter.

    It’s essentially a short-story in itself, and you can do that in a novel in a way that’s basically completely impossible in a movie. Backtracking a WHOLE STORY so that the subsequent moment has more meaning is possible in a way that doesn’t work (or doesn’t work easily) in a temporally concatenated film — it becomes a flashback that has very little depth to it, and just starts to seem out of place. Likewise, when they make a movie out of a Stephen King book, people tend to focus on the horror, rather than the characterizations, because at best they have to cut out those huge indulgences.

    The place where it does work is on TV, where a whole episode of Lost can be a flashback, just to explain the actions that a person is going to take in the next episode.

  7. Yeah, I thought the flashbacks and tragic backstory were a little tiresome, not least because it’s a pretty blatant example of Woman-in-the-Refrigerator Syndrome. I’m pretty much over action movies that use their female characters solely as motivation for the male heroes.

    I think it’s an interesting point you made about how it’s culturally… not approved, right now, to criticize the institution of war. The scenario you described would have made for a really strong movie. I imagine they skimmed around the whole “Confederacy” issue because it would not have gone over well in the South, where Confederate flags still fly. I also agree with Moff that “harming someone you know” ought to make it onto the mental-traumas list.

    Re: appeal for the ladies: I personally thought things started looking up when Taylor Kitsch took his shirt off. After that I could pretty much let my eyes glaze over and enjoy the scenery. (The dog helped too, of course. I wonder what it would have been like if they’d made the whole thing computer-animated?)

  8. braak says:

    It’s interesting that they felt like they had so much marketing trouble with the idea of having the word “Mars” in the title of the movie (or, alternately, the word “Princess”).

    Like, did the marketing guys not realize that ladies care more about Taylor Kitsch’s ridiculous torso than they care about Mars? Or that any guy will see a movie with the word princess in the title, if the princess looks like Dejah Thoris? Just put them on the the posters man, Americans can’t read anyway.

    Speaking of what if this were an animated movie, from a purely aesthetic perspective, I wish it had been. I wish it had just been a balls-out, straight up Pixar movie.

    Weirdly, I think this had less to do with Carter interacting with the Tharks and his monster dog than it did with the disconnect between the live-action Taylor Kitsch and the sort of obviously-fake jumping special effect.

  9. John Jackson says:

    “It’s essentially a short-story in itself, and you can do that in a novel in a way that’s basically completely impossible in a movie.”

    Run Lola Run

    I should see this film, and I plan on it this week, but I’m just incredibly pissed off at the overuse of flashbacks. Ever since Lost, everyone has been using flashbacks as characterization…and I only saw a couple out of joint episodes of lost, so I’ll refrain from commenting on the show itself, I just wasn’t interested. But the short lived Drive would interrupt a fast paced car race storyline with absurdly slow backstory that was meant to be the emotionally heavy hitting part of the makeup of the show and its characters. I think that show was mostly Minear and Edlund, and Edlund comes from comics, right? You can do those types of things well in comics…

    A notable good example of use of flashbacks? The Hunger Games, I won’t speak about them in detail, as it’s still spoilery territory, but from a story full of backstoried exposition, they only used two bits: one was a pseudo hallucination/flashback, and the other was entirely composed of about four shots and one line of dialogue that only half explained what happened–all it did was put more emotion into a bit of unspoken dialogue between the leads.

    I haven’t seen John Carter, yet, but from what you describe, I’m afraid the flashbacks might colour the whole film for me.

  10. John Jackson says:

    Also, if they wanted to attract men to a film with Princess of Mars in the title? Just establish that the character is the inspiration for Leia’s slave costume. You could have sold this film entirely on shirtless man and nearly naked woman bathed in red light–which fully explains the appropriate title. Instead, they showed weird CGI dog comic relief. (Though I think most people here loved that from the comments.) Maybe the male lead wasn’t glittery enough? I don’t know, the mainstream audience is weird.

  11. John Jackson says:

    Right. That was a fun film. The flashbacks weren’t half as intrusive as I thought they might be. Still pretty pointless though. Also, why did the film need five separate beginings?

  12. braak says:

    That is a good question.

  13. […] I like Chris Hemsworth well enough — he was fine in THOR and AVENGERS and I liked him in CABIN IN THE WOODS — but like the two female leads, he’s given little to work with. The closest he gets to having a character is he speaks with a heavy (but, to my ear at least, consistent) brogue, and  the film occasionally hand-waves vaguely at some backstory about a dead wife he’s sad about. […]

  14. […] I like Chris Hemsworth well enough — he was fine in THOR and AVENGERS and I liked him in CABIN IN THE WOODS — but like the two female leads, he’s given little to work with. The closest he gets to having a character is he speaks with a heavy (but, to my ear at least, consistent) brogue, and  the film occasionally hand-waves vaguely at some backstory about a dead wife he’s sad about. […]

  15. Buster says:

    Reblogged this on thebeardedbastarddotorg and commented:
    A very interesting, well thought out and well written piece.

  16. […] to this, I think, is the confusion between Backstory and Character.  Backstory is a feature of Plot – it is the literal, concrete cause for actions taken in a […]

  17. Zac says:

    John Carters is a great character, the reason for his resistance to ever go to war again was understandable after his family was murdered by Union soldiers in their Total War campaign. Some people might think this would make him so mad he would fight anyone and for any similar cause but these people have no understand of the horror of war. My grandpa was in Korea and Vietnam where he watched his best friend get killed right next to him and lots of other buddies die, and civilians die and he doesn’t hate the Vietnamese people or communism. He just hates war, all wars and always says how terrible it is when the US fights wars. My point is the horrow of war is so power it will make you hate war, cuz war is like a fire that people just get cought in with no way out, it literally suchs people into them unwillingly. Most civil war soldiers were drafted to fight on both sides and that’s why again on Mars Carter is suched into another war he didn’t want to fight in. Jonh Carter is a great movie that shows how the cause of independence is always just, that’s what the war was over, if the south wanted to keep slavery forever they could have by just surrendering within 100 days of the emancipation proclamation but they didn’t care about keeping slavery forever, honestly slavery would have dead out naturally like it did in Brazil, the southern cause was about independence and self defence and this movie shows that. Also It also conveys how the green aliens, who are like the Indians, would not get genocided if the south had won the war. The US won the civil war because it resorted to total war which is the strategy of killing the families of enemy soldiers, then it bet the Indians the same way and in WWII it beat the japenese the same manner by dropping two nuclear bombs on civilian cities instead of military ports or bases. It’s good that there is a movie now that shows the truth about the war crimes the US commited to win the civil war and the pain that it has inflicted which has never died in the hearts of the families that where violated, even after 150 years we still feel that pain and it’s nice that there is a movie that reflects it.

  18. braak says:

    The Union did not win the Civil War by killing soldier’s families. Sherman’s March to the Sea seized lightly-occupied military targets. Atlanta was set on fire against orders; Charleston was set on fire by the Confederacy to prevent it from falling into Union hands.

    The Confederacy was founded, explicitly, by its members, for the purpose of maintaining an empire based on slavery. Slavery is mentioned, by name, as a cause of the secession of the states of Mississippi, Tennessee, and Alabama. The newspapers that promoted the secession prior to the Civil War specifically cite both slavery and white supremacy as laudable goals. The vice president of the Confederacy, Alexander Stephens, declared his desire to both preserve and extend a slave empire throughout the southern hemisphere.

    Moreover, no nation that is predicated on the practice of chattel slavery deserves to be a free state. Slavery is a profound and fundamental evil, and its practice forfeits the practitioners the right to their own polity.

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