Read Online Thinking About It Only Makes It Worse by David Mitchell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Mitchell
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Phantom Menace
.
The problem isn’t just that it’s terrible but also that it retrospectively spoils the original films. George Lucas took the hinted-at, mythical, ancient yet futuristic realm of his first films and filled in all the detail like a tedious nerd. He ruined his own creation. It was as if Leonardo da Vinci had painted a speech bubble on the
Mona Lisa
in which she explained her state of mind. Everything that was magical, mysterious and half alluded to, Lucas now ploddingly dramatised, making it seem dull and trainspotterish. Those three prequels worked like aversion therapy for my addiction to the franchise.
I’d wanted the prequels to be made – I’m sure most fans did. We were desperately keen for Lucas to answer all the questions that the original films had posed. But he was wrong to accede to our wishes – not financially, but artistically. When it comes to art and popular culture, consumers are like children and chocolate, students and alcohol: they don’t know what’s good for them, they can’t predict when certain behaviour will make them feel sick.
As with junk food, so with books, films and TV, the current trend is to give people what they think they want, rather than to leave them wanting more. Presumably that’s the motivation behind making a new series of
Inspector Morse
featuring thecharacter as a young man. ITV knows that fans of Morse will watch it (God knows, they watch
Lewis
). The original series brilliantly hinted at the character’s troubled, melancholy past, so we’ll tune in to find out the details.
It’s like with a magic trick: you’re desperate to know how it’s done but, when you find out, the mundane truth usually disappoints and undermines your enjoyment of the illusion. Similarly, the specifics of Morse’s past can’t possibly live up to our imagined versions. Like a good magician, ITV and Colin Dexter would serve their audience better by resisting its curiosity. Fans don’t really know what they want or they’d make up stories for themselves. (Some do, and “fan fiction” is an excellent way for them to slake their thirst for content without destroying the mystery for everyone else.) With a story, as with a well-chosen gift, we’re happiest when surprised by something we didn’t know we wanted.
So it annoys me that there’s such pressure to provide more backstory and more information about films and TV. DVDs are packed with deleted scenes, out-takes, “making of” documentaries and explanatory commentary. The experience of making a TV show today is to be perpetually distracted from working on the actual programme by demands from the broadcaster’s website for additional material that will inevitably be of a lower quality. Some of this is harmless, but a lot of it is telling people how the trick is done.
I hope the new Harry Potter website won’t undermine the enjoyment of the Potterverse for those million golden-ticket holders. But it’s a possibility. In the real world, chocolate isn’t made in a magic factory by Oompa-Loompas. And as for Ginsters slices … there are some things that you just don’t want to know.
*
“OK, this is the worst thing I’m going to say,” announced outspoken chef Skye Gyngell. Ooh, what might it be? thought the interviewer. Casual homophobia? A libel against George Osborne? A final denunciation of the carrot? “If I ever have another restaurant, I pray we don’t get a star.” Bit of an anticlimax. But odd. Gyngell was talking about the Michelin star awarded last year to the Petersham Nurseries Cafe, from which she has just quit as head chef. “It’s been a curse … Since we got the star we’ve been crammed every single day … And we’ve had lots more complaints.” Not least from the head chef about the restaurant being too busy.
But I understand what she means. She was only running an informal cafe in a garden centre – a posh cafe in a posh garden centre, admittedly, but not really a restaurant.
.
The problem isn’t just that it’s terrible but also that it retrospectively spoils the original films. George Lucas took the hinted-at, mythical, ancient yet futuristic realm of his first films and filled in all the detail like a tedious nerd. He ruined his own creation. It was as if Leonardo da Vinci had painted a speech bubble on the
Mona Lisa
in which she explained her state of mind. Everything that was magical, mysterious and half alluded to, Lucas now ploddingly dramatised, making it seem dull and trainspotterish. Those three prequels worked like aversion therapy for my addiction to the franchise.
I’d wanted the prequels to be made – I’m sure most fans did. We were desperately keen for Lucas to answer all the questions that the original films had posed. But he was wrong to accede to our wishes – not financially, but artistically. When it comes to art and popular culture, consumers are like children and chocolate, students and alcohol: they don’t know what’s good for them, they can’t predict when certain behaviour will make them feel sick.
As with junk food, so with books, films and TV, the current trend is to give people what they think they want, rather than to leave them wanting more. Presumably that’s the motivation behind making a new series of
Inspector Morse
featuring thecharacter as a young man. ITV knows that fans of Morse will watch it (God knows, they watch
Lewis
). The original series brilliantly hinted at the character’s troubled, melancholy past, so we’ll tune in to find out the details.
It’s like with a magic trick: you’re desperate to know how it’s done but, when you find out, the mundane truth usually disappoints and undermines your enjoyment of the illusion. Similarly, the specifics of Morse’s past can’t possibly live up to our imagined versions. Like a good magician, ITV and Colin Dexter would serve their audience better by resisting its curiosity. Fans don’t really know what they want or they’d make up stories for themselves. (Some do, and “fan fiction” is an excellent way for them to slake their thirst for content without destroying the mystery for everyone else.) With a story, as with a well-chosen gift, we’re happiest when surprised by something we didn’t know we wanted.
So it annoys me that there’s such pressure to provide more backstory and more information about films and TV. DVDs are packed with deleted scenes, out-takes, “making of” documentaries and explanatory commentary. The experience of making a TV show today is to be perpetually distracted from working on the actual programme by demands from the broadcaster’s website for additional material that will inevitably be of a lower quality. Some of this is harmless, but a lot of it is telling people how the trick is done.
I hope the new Harry Potter website won’t undermine the enjoyment of the Potterverse for those million golden-ticket holders. But it’s a possibility. In the real world, chocolate isn’t made in a magic factory by Oompa-Loompas. And as for Ginsters slices … there are some things that you just don’t want to know.
*
“OK, this is the worst thing I’m going to say,” announced outspoken chef Skye Gyngell. Ooh, what might it be? thought the interviewer. Casual homophobia? A libel against George Osborne? A final denunciation of the carrot? “If I ever have another restaurant, I pray we don’t get a star.” Bit of an anticlimax. But odd. Gyngell was talking about the Michelin star awarded last year to the Petersham Nurseries Cafe, from which she has just quit as head chef. “It’s been a curse … Since we got the star we’ve been crammed every single day … And we’ve had lots more complaints.” Not least from the head chef about the restaurant being too busy.
But I understand what she means. She was only running an informal cafe in a garden centre – a posh cafe in a posh garden centre, admittedly, but not really a restaurant.
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