The Blue-Haired Girl: The Heroes We Need Pt. 2

Confession time: I love children’s media.  Whether it’s nostalgic throwbacks from my own childhood like Pokémon or newer franchises like How to Train Your Dragon or Avatar: The Last Airbender, there’s something special about kids’ shows when they’re done well.  Admittedly, Pokémon is purely kids’ fare—there’s not much hidden depth to it, and it ultimately leaves you begging yourself not to think critically about it (the morality of using animals as warriors-for-hire, the strictly defined gender roles based on outdated stereotypes, how does everyone not smell all the time—they walk everywhere, practically live outdoors, and only make it to a place that presumably has a full bathroom every few episodes), but there are kids’ shows that are written with adults in mind and there are kids’ shows that are just done so well that they’re appropriate for all ages.  I’m not talking about sneaking in a cheeky reference here or there that adults will understand and kids will not (I call this Dreamworks Style), I’m talking about top to bottom storytelling that can thrill, delight, captivate, and teach anyone, of any age.  It’s about telling mature stories that both children and adults can relate to and enjoy. 

Hilda running along with her trusty deerfox Twig and a flock of woffs

Hilda is one of those shows.  Following the exploits of a young blue-haired girl of the same name who hails from the forest just outside the walled city of Trollberg, Hilda is an adventure show at its core.  From the opening sequence in the Hilda pilot, you can see that you’re in for expansive, fast moving haps and mishaps with Hilda and, eventually, her friends.  When we meet Hilda, she’s off into the forest with her trusty deerfox companion Twig, to explore, where she runs into an oddly shaped boulder after following a flock of woffs, which are large, balloon-like puppy animals with no legs and just a tail.  Ever the explorer, Hilda opens her trusty notebook to sketch the boulder, which she explains is a troll, turned to stone by the daylight.  Of course, as she would explain to Twig, during the day the trolls are harmless, yet the moment the sun goes down, the troll would rip both her and Twig to shreds and likely eat them.  And, as children tend to do, she loses track of time and darkness falls on her and Twig, triggering her failsafe—a bell tied to the troll’s nose.  A chase ensues, and when the troll finally catches up to her, he gestures for her help in removing the bell, which is causing him major distress.  After she does, the troll returns her sketchbook that she dropped in her haste and ambles off into the distance.  It was that interaction—one that started with fear and excitement and ended with a new understanding between very different creatures—that immediately clues you in to the fact that Hilda is a special show.

While the scenery of the show will shift quickly from being set primarily in the forest to primarily in the city of Trollberg, this scene sets you up with everything you’re going to need to know about what you’re in for with Hilda.  She’s a hero, but a different kind of hero.  As the lore unfolds, it becomes clear that some sort of conflict exists between trolls and humans, leading to fear and strife, but while Hilda’s initial response was that of fear, she was able to see the troll not as some scary monster, but just as some other being that has a right to exist, just as she does.  She has the one thing true heroes truly need—empathy.

Rarely does Hilda pack heat, but when she does, it’s a sword.

Ted Lasso uses his empathy and kindness to take on a cheerleader role in everyone’s life—he’s always in your corner, using his innate goodness as a shield for you, while simultaneously being your cut man to prop you up.  Hilda wields her empathy like a sword, finding the things in life she sees that are wrong and swinging at them from the shoulder, doing all that a little girl can to make the world a better place.  And luckily, in TV shows, a person actually can make a difference in the world, even if that person is a small child aged, by my estimate, 6-10 years old, so her efforts never feel pointless, useless, or futile, like so many efforts in real life actually can (I am very bad at estimating how old children are).  At every turn in the series, Hilda reminds you that there are two sides to every coin, three sides to every triangle, and twelve faces to every dodecahedron.  Constantly subverting expectations, Hilda leaves you comfortable with the unfamiliar and reveling in the mystery.  As her stories unfold in myriad different ways (more than just running from trolls, there are dragons, cloud spirits, water spirits, a man made of wood, called Wood Man, who does not respect boundaries at all, time travel, seafaring pirate ghosts, the rat king, nightmare demons, elves, witches, and giants, among other things), you’re never in for the same experience twice with Hilda, building a deep world for both you and Hilda to get lost in.  

Hilda straddles the line perfectly—she’s got a mind of her own and doesn’t hesitate to speak it (which often gets her in trouble), but she never comes across as whiny or entitled, but rather as a modern day knight for justice.  Especially when it comes to young characters, this can be a danger—characters who believe the world should be the way they believe it should just because they believe it.  Hilda never stamps her foot and throws a tantrum, she finds real solutions for the problems in her world; she is always willing to put the work in to show that she’s right, rather than just insist that she is and demand that other people see it her way.  Hilda sends a message, and that message is to challenge the things that harm people, to question the world around when it tells you things you know to be untrue, and to be open and curious when confronted with the unknown.  Hilda is a role model for people of any age.  If more people in the world were like Hilda, the world would be a vastly better place.  I think I said the same thing about Ted Lasso, but it’s no less true of Hilda.  After all, this is a series about the heroes we need, it goes to figure that their traits would make the world better.

Hilda discovers unseen worlds around her, which somehow feels like an analogy, but I won’t go there right now

It’s on Netflix; I bet you’re glad I told you, since there are no other indications

I should give you some vitals of the show at this point, shouldn’t I?  Hilda is a Netflix exclusive and is based on the comic series of the same name; the animation style is close to the comic book and is, frankly, beyond adorable.  Hilda is cute as a button.  Twig looks eminently pettable.  Friends Frida and David are as endearing as kids come.  The elves, including Alfur, another nigh constant companion of Hilda, is as charming and lovable as a glorified stick figure can be.  I mean, honestly, the paperwork- and bureaucracy-loving elves are essentially stick figures with various hats and levels of facial hair, but they are so adorable it doesn’t even make sense.  Even the trolls are kind of cute sometimes.  Oh, and did I mention that Hilda is voiced by the actress who played Lyanna Mormont in Game of Thrones? She’s no less a badass in this roll as she was when she took on a giant wight. She and everyone else does a fantastic job lending their voices to these rich and well-developed characters.  It also should be mentioned that the show features a diverse cast of characters; it’s a female-driven show for sure, with most of the main characters being girls or women, but there are important male characters as well, and a variety of skin colors and ethnicities are represented in the show. There’s something here for everyone; there are characters on screen that just about anyone can see and say “Hey, that person is like me”. And much like Camp Cretaceous, this is presented as being normal, uncontentious, and unremarkable; the show doesn’t call attention to it or hold up diversity as a chit, it’s far more subtle.  Subtle enough that if you’re not paying attention, you just might miss it, which is great; there’s no tokenism here.  Because that just shows it as a regular, common thing; people of all races and genders should be able to get along without that being an issue and maybe the more people see that happening, the less resistance we’d have to it.

One of the unique things about Hilda is that there really isn’t a villain.  There are conflicts, but no real villains.  There’s tension and there are stakes, but there’s not a malicious force behind it.  Sure, there are opposing forces to Hilda, but her antagonists are not often painted as truly villainous—sometimes misguided, sometimes folly, sometimes unfair, but there really isn’t anyone to hate in the show.  Perhaps the mad scientist comes close.  Also, a character shows up in the second season who you could almost consider a villain, but he’s wrapped in so much unearned pompousness, ignorance, and occasional buffoonery, that it’s hard to see him as anything other than a pantomime villain.  And deep down, he’s not really much of a bad guy at all.  You’d think this would lead to ponderous storytelling, but it really doesn’t, partly thanks to the variety in kinds of stories that I mentioned before, but mainly to the smart dialogue and snappy pace the writers lend the show.  We’ve seen comics hit the small screen with grueling, bumper-to-bumper rush hour pace that crushes you; shows like Deadly Class and Preacher, for example.  But Hilda doesn’t have that problem.  It’s breathless when it wants to be, it slows down when it needs to, and it never encourages you to look at your watch.

This is a show I tell everyone to watch.  I try to do it sneakily as possible, telling my friends with small kids first, mentioning that “I came across this show somehow” and “but it looks really cool, it has some intense scenes that could be scary for kids under 5, but overall I think it’s okay for kids that young or younger”.  But here I am, telling everyone now.  This show is excellent for people of all ages.  

For all the potential pitfalls of having a message to begin with, the lessons of Hilda are simple.  When there is injustice in the world, fight it.  When something is wrong, stand against it.  When people care for you and you care for them, stick by them when they need you.  Do these things to the best of your ability, however little that may be.  Approach the world with empathy and curiosity.  Don’t let someone else dictate how you’re supposed to act, how you’re supposed to feel, or who you’re supposed to be.  And these are lessons that anyone, of any age, can stand to learn.

Empathy, curiosity, and the strength of your convictions—these are the lessons of Hilda

The Heroes We Need Pt. 1, Quarantine Edition

I don’t know which came first.  We have a chicken and egg situation when it comes to heroes.  Is it our art that elevates heroes to the point that we look for them in everyday life?  Or is it our search for heroes that led us to creating so many in art?

And I’m not talking about the frontline healthcare workers putting themselves at risk to care for us in the pandemic (and, well, all the other times as well), or the essential workers potentially exposing themselves to make sure our pantries are full, or the teachers who are trying to educate in stressful and difficult circumstances.  Of course, they’re heroes, but this is an entertainment blog.  I’m talking about a different kind of hero.  Sometimes they wear tights and capes, but sometimes they wear a blue sweater over a button-down shirt, or, even short pants and a fetching beanie/vest combination.  

Gus Roberts and the Truth Seekers

Over the past four years or so, I’ve noticed a lot of people in my social circle saying things like “Person X will contain this, Person Y will be the one to control this, Person Z will be the adult in the room,” but this isn’t a political blog (yeah right).  The gist of what I saw is that people were desperate for heroes and heroines and were looking for them in all the wrong places, trying, often with Olympic-level psychological gymnastics involved, to make heroes out of leftover bits.  Like trying to make a snowman out of the filthy snow clumped up inside the wheel wells of your car.  

When not making trouble for Raylan Givens, Walt Goggins is a pretty upstanding guy.

But I want to talk about the heroes I found on television over the past few months—characters who filled me with hope, my eyes with tears, and streaming queues with something to watch other than Futurama for the 800th time.  These shows all have one thing in common—they’re about good people who care about each other.  That’s not to say that there isn’t conflict, that they don’t fight or say the wrong things, but that they never intend to hurt and make amends when they do.  So many times in sitcoms, we’re presented with a group of “friends” who actually quite openly hate each other.  I’m not talking about friendly ribbing, I’m talking the things you say and do to an enemy, like the kid in class who reminds the teacher that they forgot to assign homework.  But not in these shows; the people in them actually like each other.  In this era of streaming services and cable networks really giving it a go, there’s no shortage of great, prestige dramas, but these shows and their characters are something else.  

Ted Lasso - Ted Lasso (Apple TV+)

I really need to get one of Ted Lasso’s AFC Richmond sweaters.

If, like me, you’re an American fan of English Premier League soccer, you may be aware of Jason Sudeikis’s Ted Lasso character, created as part of a short series of promos for NBC’s massive EPL deal from a few years ago.  The play was simple.  Lasso was an American football coach who brought bombastic ignorance and buffoonery to the EPL’s Tottenham Hotspur.  It was an exercise in the absurd—not only did Lasso know nothing about soccer, he was quite arrogant about it, and was put in charge of a very large, prestigious, top 6 club.  It was funny, sure, but not exactly the thing heroes are made of.  For years, I quietly clamored for a third Ted Lasso promo, but when I learned that Apple TV was doing a Ted Lasso show, I was immediately skeptical—after all, how can mildly arrogant asshattery carry an entire series?

The show smartly wipes out the promos from continuity.  Tottenham has been replaced by the struggling fictional London club AFC Richmond, battling relegation rather than fighting for a top 4 spot for the Champions League.  Lasso has been brought in to manage the team by new owner Rebecca Walton, a divorcée with a Major League-esque plan to destroy the club her philandering (and generally slimy) ex-husband loves so dearly (Rebecca is intriguingly played by Hannah Waddingham, whom you may have last seen walking Lena Headey naked through the streets of King’s Landing).  Lasso, with his trusty sidekick Coach Beard, is greeted by a cast of characters you’re used to seeing in sports films.  The hotshot youngster, the surly veteran, the fish out of water foreign player, and so on.  And yet, Lasso immediately befriends the equipment manager, the meek and timid Nathan, who was so shocked that anyone was even talking to him that he could barely respond.  

Gone was the arrogant buffoon.  Sure, Ted Lasso still didn’t know much about soccer, but rather than look down on what he didn’t understand, he tries to learn.  He is relentlessly hopeful, perhaps to the point of being naive, but with his hopefulness comes an impulse to believe—in himself, in his team, in his players, and in the people around him.  His unending positivity proves rather infectious as his management style begins to win people over.  

Lasso approaches every person and every problem the same way—with openness, kindness, and optimism.  What started as a gag from the SNL alum turned into one of the most inspiring figures on television today and perhaps ever.  Lasso shows depth as a character I never would have dreamed of when Ted Lasso was announced.  I was hoping for some good old fashioned whacky fun; a soccer equivalent to a show like Childrens Hospital or a live action Animaniacs.  But what I got was so much more.  Lasso himself shows unimagined personal depth, and the show’s three-dimensionality isn’t limited just to him—every character unfolds beyond the initially presented stereotype to show hidden depths lesser shows would only tell, but never show (and even lesser shows than those wouldn’t even bother).  That hotshot youngster, the surly veteran, the cold corporate owner, her spineless yes man, the popstar WAG (I hate this term, really) struggling to stay relevant in a society that puts an expiration date on women, the shy equipment manager—point to a character in Ted Lasso and you’ll be told their story. 

I can’t think of a single episode where I didn’t have tears in my eyes and usually tears of more than one kind.  I laughed so hard I cried, I was moved so profoundly I cried, I was heartbroken, I was heartwarmed.  Ted Lasso allowed me to feel the whole gamut of emotions that I’d been keeping at bay during this pandemic.  It wasn’t mere distraction, like so much of the entertainment I’ve sought out recently has been—it was catharsis.  

Lasso with Coach Beard and Nathan, the unlikely inner circle

And Sudeikis’s Ted Lasso’s big heart was firmly at the center of that catharsis.  Ted Lasso was the hero I needed to see in these times.  One who has the courage to stand—not against some mystical, otherworldly villain, but perhaps against the most monstrous nemesis we face—self-doubt.  Lasso has the courage to stand and believe in you.  

I’ll not mince words here.  Let’s be bold.  Ted Lasso alone makes Apple TV+ worth it.  If you don’t subscribe to the service, sign up for a free trial and watch it.  This show is too good to miss.  If it stays at this level for its entire run, it may well unseat Arrested Development as my top comedy series of all time.  

That’s it for part one of this series.  Part two will be continuing soon, but first will be a short detour as I face down the looming giant—what are the best Christmas movies of all time?  If you want to keep the conversation going, you can find me on Twitter almost any time (and I mean that, it’s becoming a problem) at @aslamchoudhury or @studyroompod.  Until next time, I hope you have a happy, safe, and socially distant holiday season.  

Revolution, Quarantine Edition

It’s Hamilton day.  

By now you’ve noticed that the biggest musical event in at least my lifetime has come to Disney+.  Auspiciously the day before today, July 4th, 2020, the United States Independence Day.  Of course, it’s no mistake.  Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last five or six months, you know that the United States is going through quite a rough time.  It’s not just the US, of course; the global pandemic has touched just about every country on the map and the righteous civil unrest that started in Minneapolis has spilled over to just about every major city across the world as well.  In this time of global fear and anxiety, the release of Hamilton’s live capture to Disney’s streaming service was pushed up to July 3rd from October 15th, 2021—a date so far into the future it might as well have been the distant fantasy of flying cars and an interactive Ronald Reagan selling me a Pepsi from Back to the Future II, which I was promised five years ago.  The nation needed a pick-me-up, and in the way they could, Disney and the cast of Hamilton delivered it.  

If you’ve never seen Hamilton or heard its soundtrack before, you’re probably still aware of it.  Maybe you have that annoying friend who loved to point out that he saw it with the original cast.  Maybe he saw Lin-Manuel’s penultimate show.  If you know me, then you know I was that asshole.  That asshole who saw it a second time and still was able to brag about seeing it with the original cast.  “I’m not even into musical theater,” I’d say.  “Don’t really care for musicals” would roll off my tongue.  “Frozen was fine, but it was all songs,” I’d mutter, before ducking.  But now everyone can see the amazingly talented original Broadway cast for the cost of a Disney+ subscription.  I don’t mourn the loss of exclusivity—I’m overjoyed that this is available to millions more people than could see it in New York.  Hamilton isn’t just a great musical, it isn’t just a great story, it’s one of the most important stories that’s being told right now, especially because of the way it’s being told.  

Today I watched Hamilton for the third time, this time sitting on my couch in chinos and a long sleeve t-shirt instead of a shirt and jacket, barefoot instead of in brogues.  I’d listened to the soundtrack dozens of times on my phone, and my favorite song “Yorktown” dozens more on its own (sadly, this song is censored in the Disney+ version, which got me because it’s my favorite verse in the whole show and it misses a little punch without that fuck in it).  And the first thing that struck me is that the show didn’t get less powerful upon repeat viewings the way mysteries become less compelling or comedies become less funny, but rather it was more powerful than ever.  Knowing the fates of all involved, seeing this story of men coming together to stand for their principles and fight tyranny had a new meaning to me.  Seeing this cast of Black, Latinx, and Asian actors and actresses put on this show does so much more than just the sounds of their voices do when pumped through my headphones.  Seeing these actors telling the story of not just Alexander Hamilton, but of the birth and infancy of a nation that was built on the backs of immigrants and slaves carries so much more weight than just hearing it.  Especially as I watched a multicultural sea of people mask up and spill on to the streets demanding justice over the entire past month in cities and towns across the world.  Now those standing for justice aren’t just men; it’s men, women, nonbinary people, trans people, Black people, Latinx people, Asian people, and tons of white people marching in the streets, young and old, responding to the senseless murder of a Black man, the latest in a pattern of police brutality and militarization, often times racist (particularly against Black people), standing together for change and progress.  Standing together against injustice.

Just like Hamilton, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan.  And this is why, in this moment, Hamilton is one of the most important pieces of media you can watch.  

You can watch Hamilton and simply be in awe of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s genius, who wrote the lyrics and music to the entire show.  You can simply hear the connections between the songs and just enjoy how masterfully crafted every single word and note is.  When one single word of a song reminds you of another and paints a picture by connecting two different people on opposite sides of fidelity, when Burr cockily notes that Angelica Schuyler’s disgust of him means that they’ve discussed him, when Hamilton poignantly attacks Burr for being a man who stands for nothing and would fall for anything, when the wisdom of Washington telling Hamilton that dying for something is easy and living for it is harder stabs you right in the heart, you can just enjoy this show for how incredible it is.  But you can see so much more here.  

Miranda could have told the story of the American Revolution.  Of Alexander Hamilton’s rise from orphan to war hero at the side of Washington.  He could have stopped at “Yorktown” and have told a wonderful, triumphant war story.  “Yorktown” is the moment the war movie cuts away and we get to be Americans in unison, winning the war for freedom for all (in a country that still had slavery and where women’s rights were a joke).  Later today, I’ll probably fire up Independence Day and get my metaphorical pom-poms out for American excellence and Will Smith’s quips, but that’s not what Hamilton is about.  Hamilton doesn’t just tell the triumphs.  

Hamilton and Burr are flawed characters and it tells the story of two men who could have been friends, who might have been friends, but who end up standing across from each other with pistols trained.  Hamilton is our hero, yes, but Burr is the main character.  It shows the importance of perspective in tales of heroes and villains.  It tells of Hamilton’s failures as a husband and father, it reminds us that no person who ever had their name on a statue or a dollar bill is perfect.  Hamilton reminds us that those we exalt are just like us.  That it’s okay to acknowledge the humanity in historical figures rather than canonize them and act as if their legacy is flawless.  That it’s okay to be honest about our history.  It is flawed, the people in our textbooks are flawed, the textbooks themselves are flawed (we all know the myth of Washington cutting down the cherry tree, but we rarely talk about his slave ownership), that our nation is flawed, and that it’s okay to be flawed, to note our flaws, and to work to correct them.  It reminds us that our flaws don’t undo us, but that they are part of us, and it’s dishonest to ignore them.  Lin-Manuel Miranda ends his masterpiece not with a shout of victory, but a reminder.  

And Hamilton is acutely aware of that fact, stating several times that we have no control over who tells our story and what aspects of our story get told.  I’m of the age that my first lesson about Alexander Hamilton was a Got Milk commercial where a peanut butter sandwich and a lack of a glass of milk to wash it down kept an Alexander Hamilton enthusiast from winning $10,000 because he couldn’t clearly get the words “Aaron Burr” out of his mouth.  It was an anecdote, an oddity of American history.  When I first heard that a hip hop musical was coming out telling the story of that guy, I checked my calendar to make sure it wasn’t April 1st.  And yet, what came of it was not just the best musical I’ve ever seen, but one of the most important.  I can go on and on and tell you what my favorite songs are and what my favorite lines are, how Hercules Mulligan’s verse gets me off the mat when I need someone to tell to get off the mat, how Hamilton touches on both my hopes and fears, or how it inspires me and leaves me petrified at the same time.  But more than anything, I want to leave you with the importance of Hamilton.  That in this moment in history, we must note that freedom means freedom for all, that honesty still matters and has always mattered, and more than anything, a few principled people can stand together against any odds and make a difference.  

The New Ones and Zeroes, Quarantine Edition

As more states start to reopen their businesses and new cases start to spike again, it’s important to remember that staying home and going out in public is best done only when necessary—and best done in a mask.  But I’m not here to talk about social distancing and how important masks are.  I’m still staying home and I’m trying all sorts of stay-at-home activities.  I’ve been sitting on the sofa and watching TV shows.  I’ve been sitting on the sofa watching movies.  I’ve been sitting on the sofa listening to podcasts.  But now I’m here to talk about something completely different. 

Sitting on the sofa and playing video games.  

I’m going to be upfront about this and it may make you turn away now.  If you do, I’ll understand.  But I’m not going to talk about Animal Crossing.  I’ve got no problem with it, it just doesn’t seem like my kind of game.  I’m an old pro at this and I’ve pretty much gotten it figured out what kinds of games are going to appeal to me and what kinds of games are going to leave me a bit bored.  Animal Crossing seems like a cutesy version of The Sims, which could be fun, but as no one has been able to tell me how to defeat the final boss, I’ve decided to skip it.  I know lots of people have played it and love it and have spent hundreds of hours on it already, so if you think it’s something you’ll enjoy, there’s lots of evidence saying that you should go for it.  Hell, even I’m still thinking about it.  I just haven’t gotten it yet.  

So, no Animal Crossing.  There are dozens, if not hundreds, of other games you can pick up on any console and have a great time.  I recently played Uncharted: Lost Legacy (really fun game if you’re a fan of the Uncharted series), Pokemon Sword, Mario Kart 8, Super Mario Odyssey, and some others as well.  Final Fantasy 7 Remake came out recently, which I haven’t gotten to yet.  The Last of Us 2, same story.  But I want to focus on games that are giving me a vicarious outlet for the things I’m missing in regular life right now.  

FIFA 20

Mo Salah, cutting inside as one does.

I am a huge soccer fan.  I mainly watch the English Premier League, but I will also occasionally check out other leagues.  And even though, as I’m writing this, the Premier League has just returned (and the Bundesliga before it), it’s not quite the same thing as seeing matches with full crowds of 45,000 people singing You’ll Never Walk Alone over the Anfield pitch.  So during the quarantine, I dove back into my FIFA Career Mode and took control of Liverpool.  I scouted young prospects, I played match after match, I stunted on Everton and Manchester United season after season.  As real Liverpool closes in on their first league title in 30 years, I’ve already brought it home four times and won the World Cup (with England, no less).  Even though football is back, it leaves me with real concerns over player safety and while it does serve as a momentary distraction from the world at large, it doesn’t exactly give me that escape I’m looking for.  But in the game, there’s no pandemic.  There are no safety concerns.  Sure, there are no butterflies in your stomach as your team marches on in important matches.  There’s no jumping out of your seat when player does something brilliant and beautiful.  But, I do get to live out the fantasy of being both a manager of a top club and being a player as well, which is something you can’t get from a Football Manager type game or just by watching the real thing.  And there’s real value in that; real enjoyment to be had.  It doesn’t have to be FIFA, of course.  If you’re a sports fan of any kind and your team isn’t playing right now, taking the reins of your own club is a wonderful way to pass the extra time on your hands.  

Red Dead Redemption 2

Outlaws gonna outlaw. Trust me, this is the least of the crimes you’ll be committing as Arthur Morgan.

Speaking of taking the reins, in this game, you can do that, literally, with a horse.  Or many horses, however you want to play it.  RDR2 came out in 2018 and I’ve pretty much been playing it since.  My first time through, I was so addicted to the story that I didn’t take enough time to sit back and enjoy the world they created in mind-boggling detail.  If you’ve read any of the press on it from back then, you’ll know that the horses actually take shits when they need to or how people react differently to you whether you’re freshly bathed or caked in the dried blood of your enemies.  But what they can’t really tell you is how wonderful it can be to immerse yourself in the world, or how relaxing it can be to just take some time and fish, or how satisfying it can feel to knife a Klan member right in the chest.  Much like Rockstar’s other open world giant, Grand Theft Auto, RDR2 gives you a world in which you can do or be almost anything.  I’m one of those weirdos that likes to be the good guy—which, admittedly, can be difficult when you’re Arthur Morgan, the number two in a gang of cutthroat outlaws—so I did a white hat playthrough, maxing the honor meter within the game’s karma system.  Help people out when they ask, don’t rob so many folks, and definitely keep the murderous rampages to a minimum; it’s not too hard to stay on the right side of morality (though the right side of the law is much more difficult).  Everything in Red Dead 2 is deliberate.  When you fire a single action gun, the next action you take is cocking the gun again for the next shot.  It makes think about your loadouts, it makes you consider your choices, and the game feels so real.  The people in the towns feel like people, not just NPCs programmed to make a place look busy.  In one random event, I was trotting along the street on my horse and heard a robbery going down in an alleyway.  I jumped off my horse and ran into the alley to intervene.  But it was nighttime, so it was dark, and in my moment of hesitation, the perpetrator had committed one murder and was keen for another.  I stopped him, permanently, of course, but I was left with this emptiness; I didn’t feel like the hero.  I felt bad.  Here were two NPCs, a couple, and because I couldn’t act quickly enough, they were irrevocably split and the husband would never have a moment of happiness that wouldn’t be tinged with the sadness of lasting violence.  That’s the power of this game.  They weren’t characters, they didn’t impact the story, but everything about the game feels so real and deep that being unable to save this poor woman left a mark on me.  This time around, I’m taking more time to enjoy the world, but if you’ve never played it before, the story is beautiful and ugly and heartwarming and heartbreaking and everything in between.  It is a masterpiece of gaming and a masterpiece of storytelling.  If you want to learn more, there are numerous video game publications that can give you in-depth reviews.  So I’ll leave you just with this: Red Dead Redemption 2 is simply the best game I have ever played.  

Grid (2019)

Okay, it’s fast, but the trunk space is terrible.

I love cars.  When I was a child, I had Matchbox cars in both hands almost at all times.  When I was in college, I wrote for a small car blog and even got to attend a car show with a press pass.  When I started this blog many years ago, it started as a driving blog.  Of course, the reality of ever more congested roads, rush hour traffic, and potholed city streets made driving a less enjoyable proposition than it once was long before COVID-19 had us sheltered in place.  But now, driving, even on the relatively empty roads, seems frivolous.  Not only do I have no place to go, being a city-dweller, the streets still offer very little in the way of enjoyment.  Since I’m not a teenager anymore, I do drive much more responsibly than I used to anyway (that’s not to say I don’t still fracture the occasional speed limit or clip the occasional apex), which means I have to go miles and miles outside the city in search of safe roads in which I can drive enthusiastically.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trading in my clutch and shifter any time soon, I’m just saying that the whole thing isn’t as fun as it used to be.  Racing games became a much bigger part of my life as I got older.  Years ago, it was Gran Turismo, until I felt cheated by Gran Turismo 5 Prologue and the full game—the fun had left the series and the whole thing felt like more of an exercise in how many JDM versions of Hondas they could shove into the game (included with previous gen graphics because they couldn’t be bothered to update them) than a joyful simulation.  $100 later and I had not one, but two unfinished games that weren’t fun to play.  I switched over to Forza on the XBox 360 until the idea of buying a console to play one game became unpalatable and a ridiculous waste of money.  But I still wanted to drive, I missed racing games, and Mario Kart just wasn’t cutting it.  I went years without a decent racing game.  Enter Grid.  A good balance between racing sim and arcade game, it lacks the features, car selection, track selection, and modifications of Forza and Gran Turismo, but the graphics are beautiful and the physics feel great.  Instead of hopping in my car and putting the roof down for a quick trip to nowhere and then parking it again, I can get behind the wheel of a 911 GT4 or a Corvette LeMans car or a classic Mini Cooper touring car and drive as hard as I want without worrying about hitting any potholes or getting into an accident, or running afoul of the local constabulary.  It’s not a perfect facsimile, sure, since a controller can never match the feel of a clutch under your left foot, the thrill of a perfect shift, or the feeling of the steering weighting up as you take a corner, and frankly, I’m not willing to invest in racing seat, wheel, and dedicated setup when I’m perfectly comfortable on my couch and sipping a soda between races.  But it does make a pretty fun compromise.  And since the time for me to become a professional race car driver has past, this is the closest I’m going to get until Gran Turismo 7 comes out on PS5 and hopefully doesn’t suck.  For now, this is keeping me smiling.

Like I said, this is just the smallest snapshot of games you can play to pass the time.  If you have a Nintendo Switch, for example, there are lots of smaller games that are cheaper to buy than the big studio games that are lots of fun and quite innovative.  I’ve enjoyed my time with Donut County (a game in which you control a hole that gets bigger the more stuff you put into it) and What the Golf?, billed as a golf game for people who hate golf.  But these are the games that give me that slice of life I’m denied by happily doing my part and staying quarantined.  

So, until next time, stay home, stay safe, and stay tuned.  You can always reach out to me on Twitter @aslamchoudhury if you want to discuss this or any of the other other blog posts I’ve put up.