Spoilers, Sherlock, Crazypants, Warning, Etc.
So at 10:38 last night, following the conclusion of The Reichenbach Fall, I muted the TV sound and pulled out a pen and a notebook. Flipped the notebook to the first blank page, and wrote the following heading: The Problem With The Reichenbach Fall (a brainstorm)At 2 this morning, I was still chewing on it
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(I know you would by the final season, but honestly, that's a fairly common response)
But honestly? I love your brain. And this is why I *want* to watch t.v. and movies with you- because this is one hell of an interesting way to look at things.
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And the mention of Lost makes me think of allll the stories out there I don't get into, and what the unconscious choice criteria might be. Obviously with the way I crawl in and chew things apart, and the level of energy and attention maintained, I have to be really selective or else start blowing fuses. So certain things have to come together before I'll sit down and check a thing out, or bother turning my brain on. I was perfectly happy not turning my brain on for Iron Man, for instance, because it was delightful, and Robert Downey Jr. is delightful, and I'm totally content to just watch him do his thing, even with a film script that's made of like, Saran Wrap. It's okay, he's not gonna disappoint me.
But looking at a thing like Lost, the number of characters is one issue. I have this in books too, when there's too many people to keep track of, I start losing interest. S'why I haven't finished The Tale of Genji, suddenly all these people were pouring out of the woodwork and it was ( ... )
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And god help those writers if they lose their roadmap with the story partway through. I'll be on that like a trainload of crotchety vultures. Professional writers aren't allowed to do that, in my book. You and I are allowed, because we're amateurs, and we're teaching ourselves how this crap works by experimenting and occasionally failing. But when it's a person's full-time job, there are no excuses. Unless they're taking an insane experimental risk, and then maybe okay, I do give points for sheer balls and spectacular failures. But if they're throwing around plot twists and character contortions just because they don't actually know what the hell's going on, and hope to distract us, no. Sorry, I am not that easily distracted, and I can smell fear and stupidity.
And yeah, I'm kind of an asshole about it. But I sincerely, genuinely want a writer to be smarter than me, and to drag me up a level, and demand I pay utmost attention, and blow my mind. And when they do, they have my starry-eyed admiration for life.
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OKAY SO I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS. They are not as coherent because, yes, I can't think of Reichenbach without wanting to curl up into a ball, so rewatching it will have to be put on hold until I stop whimpering, but -
Grimm & Moriarty. I might be misremembering this, but I assumed the clues were all Hansel and Gretel - the crumbs pointing to either the trail of bread crumbs, or the gingerbread house, not the gingerbread man (although I see how the "You can't catch me...!" could apply). Moriarty, like Sherlock, wants above all a good story. There's a cruel and terrible and simple logic to fairy tales, to good vs. evil, to the myth of the fall - Sherlock loves his excessively bizarre, complicated explanations ( ... )
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Y'know, I do have to wonder whether all this thinky effort isn't largely a way to distract myself from all the woe and hurt. That episode ending gutted me the first time, I could hardly leave my chair the next two days (and so marathoned Downton Abbey for some kind of antidote, actually, hah). And then once the despair and weepiness let up some, I sorta pushed myself up from the floor on my elbows and went Oh my christ how did they do that, I have absolutely got to learn this trick and steal it.
But then LOL who am I kidding, there is nothing I love better than dissecting things down to their skeleton, field-stripping them, counting their screws and capacitors and poking around in the gears. Sometimes to fix them, sometimes for the actual physical pleasure of comprehending the elegance of made things. Doesn't much matter what it is. A garment, a DVD player, the motor that drives the passenger-side window in my car. My brain is fiendish, sometimes it makes me cry in sheer exhuastion, and I am totally not joking about ( ... )
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Supposing the only thing Moriarty sees in the possibility of death, is the most decisive motivator he can manipulate someone with. He uses it on other people, but it's as if he has no grasp of its meaning. Which strikes me as weirdly affecting, for some reason. It's a level of dissociation that's nearly childlike in its innocence. Add in his sudden tantrums, his mood swings, his seeming conviction that there is nothing on earth that can restrain him. His is an ego that has outstripped all sense of the laws of nature and reality, he does not realize that he is not actually a god. It does not compute ( ... )
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