An ambitious young soldier determined to prove his worth. A captain challenges his peers and sends them on a hunt to catch a beast. A tribe chants the name of a warchief as he makes a grand entrance.
Not a sci-fi or war novel, but archetypes found in the 2014 Warner Brothers game, Shadow of Mordor. Players encounter enemy uruks of varying status, but each one is undeniably unique due to the mechanics in place. Relationships between components are programmed into a random generator that produce a well-crafted villain; for example, Bright Eyes has glowing blue eyes, while another uruk might remember you for having previously attacked or killed them and mention such event in a cry for battle.
The randomly curated personalities of the antagonists create a memorable and more tangible story world. While there are uruks that pass by whose names, fears and dreams you will never know, there are plenty more that make an impression and become an integrated part of the player’s story experience. Characters with individual story lines that are independent from the player – such as a captain receiving a promotion in the background of the game – adds to the depth of the game and the attachment formed to the story world.
Elaine, a young witch on a mission to seduce a suitor, opens up her wrap dress to reveal a hypnotic rainbow lining. Her eyeshadow is a striking aqua blue, lips flushed pink. The man is transfixed as her dance begins, colours all mixing and melding together.
Anna Biller’s 2016 thriller pays homage to the camp and stiffness of 1960s horror films. With countless credits to her name on the film’s production team list, Biller creates a smouldering tale about a beautiful young witch who is on a quest to find true love in a new town. What appeals most about The Love Witch is not its story or nostalgia however, but the careful and stunning visuals injected with bursts of unexpected colour.
Elaine’s apartment, for example, features sapphire-blue walls and ruby-red furniture. It is decorated with erotic paintings and brass candelabras. The vibrancy of the palette references technicolour films that used colour to draw the eye to certain aspects of a scene and create dramatic contrast. In this case, Elaine’s personality and new community of sorcerers provide the otherwise bland town with a vivid spectrum of rich-colours and also act as an homage to Biller’s predecessors. In the world of The Love Witch, colour is witch’s magic, but for the audience, colour is film magic.
Heavy strings, clicking heels, the famous gunshot. These are the sounds that Pablo Larraín gives us to tell Jackie, the story of the four days between John F. Kennedy’s assassination and his burial. Minor morose and melancholy, Mica Levi’s musical composition for the 2016 bipoic of Jacqueline Kennedy sets the tone of the piece, but also indicates the shifts that occur in Jackie’s inner mind. New, dragging instruments are introduced as challenges mount for the already-struggling Jackie, played by Natalie Portman.
Jacqueline Kennedy was celebrated during her lifetime, and long after, for her sense of style; this is not lost in the auditory storyelling. The firm taps of travelling kitten heels represents more than Jackie herself, but her moments of sheer determination to be heard. Her devotion for preserving the honour and memory of her husband results in a calm, steady march toward those who may overlook her, whether at a hospital or in the White House.
We hear the bullet three times, and only after Billy Connolly’s journalist enquiries about it. The sound becomes invasive to us, no longer the inciting incident, but a symbol of Jackie’s anger, and her newfound distrust of others.
