The League of Gentlemen: A Disappointment

Sometimes I wish there were real, classy villains.

James Bond villains. Classy villains. Delicious men with such twisted idealism and beautiful plotting that you can’t help but fall into their gushing grins and want to be evil, too.

(On an unrelated note, I am wary of getting married because inevitably I only fall in love with people of questionable moral fiber, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.)

There’s a scene in the episode “Engagement” in the second season of the show The Vicar of Dibley, wherein the Vicar invites Hugo to tea with her. She assumes he’s wondering why she’s asked him over, but to her surprise, he claims he’s figured it out.

“You know the film League of Gentlemen, where they gather together the seven master criminals of the world, each of them skilled in their own particular trade—master of disguise, master lock-breaker, explosives expert, etcetera—are all assembled to pull off the greatest robbery of all time. I assume it’s that; am I right?”

He isn’t.

But, I did get the film to watch with my father—this old black and white film from the sixties that I had to borrow from another library system—just to see what Hugo is talking about.

via hypnogoria.com

Fair enough, men who have all been slighted in one way or another by the government/military gather together, all hoping to steal enough cash to embarrass their enemies and live comfortably on an island somewhere until they die.

It was an okay movie, I suppose (obviously, I have to make allowances for the film quality and choices, simply due to the era in which it was filmed), but the story frustrated me. Because these were not classy, dazzling men. They were miffed military men in suits and with petty crimes on their hands.

They ran everything like a polite military operation, secret and dirty and secluded in a day and age before security cameras and annoying neighbors could easily rat them out. Sure, they wore the right clothes, but the silkiness of an Alpha was completely absent.

What was worse, spoiler alert, in the end, they all get arrested because a little boy noticed the faulty plates on their getaway truck. He turned them in to the police and they tracked down the owners.

That made me mad—oh, why did they have to lose? Dad looked at me mildly amused, and reminded me that this was the sixties, and in the end the government and goodness had to win.

Which I thought was stupid.

Granted, I have a sense of morality (somewhere…) and I do tend to have faith in my government, and in the people around me to do the right thing at the right time. Murder is wrong, being mildly rude to someone isn’t particularly acceptable, and I go to church.

All that kind of goes away as soon as I enter a fictional novel.

Books broaden perspectives, change the fabric of morality, philosophy, and science simply as the author sees fit. Gods can be created and destroyed, beauty designed and ugliness tempered. Murder becomes a goal, death is desire, blood is a must and it glitters like rubies on the floor. I expect to breathe in the injustice from the pages and absorb it and breathe it out like smoke.

I wanted them to win… Obviously, this league of gentlemen wasn’t perfect and in fact, with a couple of tweaks to the storyline, I could have easily foiled their plan from the comfort of my own living room.

But I wanted them to win, because they were still the heroes. Their evil was the good. And they disappointed me.

Sometimes I wish villains were real. Not because I don’t have a sense of morality, or because I think that their fundamental actions and beliefs are justified. Sometimes I simply wish that there were people like that—classy, with shiny shoes and tailored suits, neatly combed hair, secret lairs, massive danger, and ultimate calm. People who can do their evil right.

Of course, I should be careful what I wish for. Getting kidnapped by terrorists would probably be just as educational, but I doubt I’d enjoy it at all.

Flickr Credit: Julien CARTRY

And yet… Kananga, Nero, Rugen, the Darkling, Thorne, the list goes on and on. No matter how much you root for justice, you also have to root for these guys, because they are fantastic.

Take that, my poor league of gentlemen. You deserved what you got.

The Glow from the Silver Screen

Hello, dear Reader. Before we begin my semi-monthly essay on Life, the Universe, and Everything, I'd like you to go over to this link (opens in a different tab) and listen to this song. It's about 11 minutes, but it helps you better understand the topic I will discuss. You don't have to listen, but you should. It probably won't make sense, but after this post it will.

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Last year (by that I mean my sophomore year), I became obsessed with what the genre-ists refer to as noir fiction. The "hard-boiled", crime detective novels from the 1930s, classic movies from Hollywood's Golden Era, with tough-talkin' detectives with trench coats and square jaws, like Humphrey Bogart and Peter Lorre!

Crime noir is a weird genre. The dialogue is very different than what you might expect. It's very sparse, like Hemingway, but it's vivid, lurid and lusty (as lusty as 1930s standards can get you. It's all good, though.) Consider the first sentences from my favorite noir novel, The Thin Man:

"I was leaning against the bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-second street, waiting for Nora to finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been sitting with three other people and came over to me. She was small and blonde, and whether you looked at her face or her body in powder-blue sports clothes, the result was satisfactory. "Aren't you Nick Charles?" she asked.
I said: "Yes".
She held out her hand. "Dorothy Wynant. You don't remember me, but you ought to remember my father Clyde Wynant. You-"

Reading crime fiction, especially by the two masters of the genre, Raymond Chandler (who's best known for The Big Sleep and his Phil Marlowe stories) and Dashiell Hammett (who wrote the above novel, The Thin Man, and perhaps the most evocative of them all: The Maltese Falcon.) Everyone knows about these two, and people usually enjoy Chandler's stories more. But I'm a Hammett fan and I always will be. Chandler portrays the pointlessness of it all, the hard rugged life, and Hammett does too, but he makes it more witty and glamorous. Not too much, though. But The Thin Man, for example, has characters going in and out of speakeasies faster than you can turn the page.

Hammett does a good job of recreating the stereotypes and fantasies we have of the era. You watch Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, His Girl Friday, all these great classic Golden-Age films with the greats: Douglas Fairbanks, Clark Gable, Maureen O'Sullivan, Lauren Bacall (who just died last year), Ingrid Bergman...If you're like me, you want to enter the fantasy. You want to become a Prohibition era detective, like Hammett's "blond satan" Sam Spade, who's always digging for the truth, if you'll pardon the pun, or or a sweet dame who's in a spot of trouble but turns out to be a traitorous beauty, like Brigid O'Shaughnessy.

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The film poster to the right looks like something from the '30s, am I right? Nope. The movie was made in 1974. It is perhaps one of my favorite movies, not just about gangsters and detectives, but of all time. I mentioned before how I really didn't focus on the pointlessness and despair of crime noir, but Chinatown does an excellent job of showing it to people. The life of Detective Gittes is hard, from tracking down murderers to dealing with dead people and an unstable woman. In the end, nothing matters: justice can never be served but with blood and revenge. "Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown."

 

The point is this: crime noir gets to show us two sides of an era: the glitzy, svelte allure of speakeasies and Humphrey Bogart, and the harsh, rough and tumble lifestyle of Jack Nicholson getting his nose slashed up.

 

Overall, crime noir is a good genre if you enjoy history and classic movies, and gangsters, and trench coats. As I said before, it's a hard genre to get into. There's codes and jargon for everything. It was a hard life to live back then, and sparse dialogue and snappy comebacks are a result of that. (As was heavy drinking and excessive smoking, but that's neither here nor there.) XD

 

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The song I had you listen to was full of sound clips from The Maltese Falcon, starring Humphrey Bogart. There were numerous other references to silent-era films and Golden Age greats. Yes, it may have seemed odd and confusing. The song is a good one, though, especially the ending: the ending shows how movies are powerful. If you've seen Hugo Cabret, you know this: the fantasies and delusions of actors on the silver screen are inspiring. We go to the movies for release, to see characters who may be like ourselves, or ones who live completely different lives than our own. We go to the movies to indulge our curiosity, to experience the thrill of seeing scenes that make us go "What if?" What if we met our lifetime love on the Titanic? What if we were all connected to a computer matrix mainframe? What if we were silent-era movie actors who were replaced by the "talkies"?

 

Movies are amazing things. They really are. Like books, they can show us so much more than what we know, take us to worlds afar. This is what is so amazing about media.

 

Fantasy would fill my life, and I love fantasy so much...
 

-R.R.



The Plot of Plots

“What Diabolus understood, and what I hope you will all come to understand as well, is that a scheme must have style; a plot must have a plot, if you will.”

-Dr. Nero, H.I.V.E., Mark Walden, pg 146

If you have not read H.I.V.E. then you should—on this I am adamant. Never mind that it is my favorite series and that I love it so much I bought the book in Spanish to challenge myself, but it is also filled with little wisdoms such as the one above.

A plot must have a plot.

Like Rob, I am of the higher ranked students in my year. I take honors and AP classes, with other students of the same caliber. The only thing any of us seem to have in common is our need to whine. (Well, I try not to—I love most of my classes.)

“He’s a terrible teacher.”

“She never taught us that!”

“This book is dumb!”

“I’m never going to need to know how to write an essay!”

I hear it in history, English, Spanish… my favorite classes, all torn to shreds by their criticisms.

It’s true, sometimes they are probably right. Some of it isn’t going to be important to them. They will probably grow up to be doctors and nurses, architects, engineers, the groomed middle class of tomorrow. But their plots have no plots. And their schemes have no style.

Their purpose is empty, and that frustrates me to no end.

You see, I have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. Perhaps I will be a barista. Maybe I will work two shifts at a coffee shop all morning, work the afternoon at Office Max and then spend my evenings at McDonald’s. Maybe I will even live up to my parents’ dreams and be able to sustain myself.

Regardless, my plots will have plots.

As a writer, I understand this: it is not enough to have supporting characters, a setting, a goal; they all must be their own main characters, with dreams to reach and pasts to hide as well.

As a person, I understand this: it is not enough to live; it must be life to the fullest because that will make it worthy.

Dr. Nero knows what he means about purpose—you can read these kinds of things in the Bible or the ancient myths of old. Purpose is that thing that means you must not succeed but excel. That 110%. It is the meaning to your actions, or as Megamind would say it, “PRESENTATION!”

That is my Dr. Nero. Evil is applicable.

It’s back to school season, and again it seems like we are lining up to learn useless drivel and complete tasks that will be irrelevant and outdated in five years. It will be dull for my classmates. But I know what it is to have style, and so here I am on the brink of new purpose.

Engage.

The Villain is Always the Hero

image via Goodreads

Let’s get one thing straight: the villain is always my hero. Why? The villain makes conflict, and if there is

no conflict, then there is no story, and if there is no story, then that book is a waste of precious ink and paper.

 Also, I love villains.

What’s fascinating, though, is that villains are almost identical to heroes at their core. Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at Ruin and Rising by Leigh Bardugo—an excellent conclusion to the Grisha Trilogy I have reviewed here, and yes, you must read it. (I’ll try not to spoil too much, but I make no promises!)

A Few Things to Know:

Alina—protagonist; a sun summoner who can manipulate light to her will. She is the only hope to destroy the Fold.

Darkling—antagonist; he summons darkness, leads the Grisha, and plans to expand the Fold indefinitely.

Fold—a rift of darkness made by the Darkling; terrible monsters live there making it impossible to inhabit.

Grisha—people who manipulate basic elements (i.e. flesh, light, metal, etc.) with a special power they are born with.

Zoya—minor antagonist; a squaller who summons and manipulates air, doesn’t get along with Alina.

Three different people, three different powers, three different goals, and yet all the same. Check it out!

Alina

The Darkling

Zoya

~Unique Skills and Abilities~

Alina is the only sun summoner and the only Grisha capable of destroying the Fold.

The Darkling is a rare night summoner, the only one who can expand the Fold, and has a special political position that allows him to control his rivals by threatening to bring the Fold upon them.

Zoya is one of the most talented squallers, not to mention prettier, faster, and better trained than Alina.

~Defining Values and Moral Codes~

Alina’s most important belief is that the Darkling must be defeated. Innocent people should not have to die for Grisha power, and Grisha should not have to live and die under the Darkling.

The Darkling disregards “the abandoned,” or non-Grisha folk. He believes Grisha are simply better, and therefore should bow to no one. Everything he seeks is for the glory, protection, and continued success of the Grisha—regardless of cost.

Zoya believes the Darkling must be stopped, but she also believes that she deserves as much or more attention than Alina. Her jealousy defines their relationship for quite a while, and so despite being allies, her actions also make them enemies.

~Specific Goals~

Alina wants to end the Darkling and keep him from destroying the world. To do this, she finds amplifiers to strengthen her power.

The Darkling wants to permanently elevate the Grisha above all others, period. Therefore, he must inspire fear and conquer the world.

Zoya wants to prove that she is important in the fight against the Darkling, which she does by doing.

~Seeks to Accomplish Said Goals and Faces Successes and Failures Along the Way~

Alina’s personal misfortunes and lack of forces often get in her way. She always finds a way to scrape by, but her goals are never met freely.

The Darkling’s influence waxes and wanes with the opinions of his fellow Grisha, the common people, and religious and political powers. His summoning power serves him, but the rest is often out of his hands.

Zoya is stomped on, but never destroyed. Her ability to hurt and annoy Alina fails as Alina gains confidence, and Zoya’s need to hurt her fades as she becomes needed and important.

~Crisis Point: Winning and Losing~

Alina defeats the Darkling, but at the price of the things she thought she couldn’t live without. She won and lost at the same time.

The Darkling is Alina’s opposite. He achieves his minor goals, but ultimately it is not he who achieves the power and glory he always sought.

Zoya is special. She wins her war, but loses as an antagonist. She and Alina gain a funny kind of friendship, which means her goals as an opponent are lost.

The thing is, Alina is our protagonist, but from the point of view of the Darkling and Zoya, it isn’t Alina’s story—it’s theirs. They believe they are the hero, with enemies and beliefs and plans to rise. The Darkling even says, “Make me your villain.” He never believed he was wrong—he was his own good guy.

The villain is always the hero. Because when they believe it, then you can believe it too. That’s what made them good books.

And that’s what makes us human. We’re all our own heroes—and that could easily be our undoing or our greatest strength. We’ll see.

What did you think? Am I crazy? Am I right? Share your thoughts and opinions in the comments!