My review of The Sarah-Jane Adventures on CBBC

Let me start by saying this: The Sarah-Jane Adventures is essentially a slightly more light-hearted version of Doctor Who. If you like Doctor Who but hate Torchwood, you will almost certainly like SJA.

The Sarah-Jane Adventures are about the titular ex-companion (Elizabeth Sladen) coping with life after the Doctor. The other main cast members include her adopted son Luke, a clone created by an alien race called the Bane, as the archetypal human, Luke’s friends Clyde and Maria (Maria is replaced after the first series by Rani), and Sarah’s Zylock supercomputer, Mister Smith. These five form a group of alien investigators based in Sarah-Jane’s attic. This may be an intentional inversion of the five misfits in a cellar that comprise the Torchwood team, or could just be a coincidence. Unlike Torchwood, and Who itself, there is a regular supporting cast, mostly consisting of Maria or Rani’s parents, but there is an occasional cameo from the ever-faithful K9.

Like Doctor Who itself, SJA is mostly a serious drama of alien encounters, but has some decidedly tongue-in-cheek moments. What is most striking about it, however, is the level of understanding it expects of its audience. From the fact that it is shown on CBBC one might assume that it will primarily feature talking animals and pretty colours. This could not be further from the truth. SJA will quite unashamedly include plotlines including Greek mythological references, parallel universes, divorce, nanotechnology and alien monsters with agendas other than “kill all humans”, and never once consider that it’s audience doesn’t have the imagination to understand what’s happening. In fact I, a nineteen year old Science student can watch this, a program designed for nine to twelve year-olds, and NOT FEEL PATRONISED. How could this have happened? Something intelligent being shown on CBBC? Perhaps I shouldn’t even be writing this, or the BBC bosses will notice and force RTD to restore the natural equilibrium by dumbing down his writing.

Not only does SJA make positive assumptions about the intelligence of its audience, but it makes another important assumption; kids are not scared of guys in rubber masks anymore. Maybe they’ve been spoiled by modern SFX, or it’s simply because they’ve been taught to accept people who are different more efficiently than previous generations were (not that this is a bad thing!), but whatever the reason putting on a mask and saying “I’m an alien/monster/demon/vampire! Grrrr!” does not induce pants-wetting terror in our young anymore. This is a great shame, and means that Dads across the length and breadth of the country will have to actually have some original ideas. SJA achieves pants-wetting terror instead, therefore, by means of psychological horror. On one notable occasion this was achieved when Sarah-Jane was erased from history, and the memories of everyone other than Maria. Maria was then forced to cope with the impending destruction of the Earth alone, with everyone believing she was insane, including her own father. This is a much more frightening prospect than a mere angry Ice Warrior. In another Mister Smith, the resident living encyclopaedia turns out to have been plotting the destruction of the Earth all along. Mister Smith’s creepy monotone, coupled with the sudden revelation of its treachery and abduction of Clyde was quite chilling.

Another important part of SJA is the continued evolution of SJA’s character. In classic Who, Sarah made the transition from journalist hungry for the next story, to loyal companion. What made S-J stand out from other Who companions was the quality of Elizabeth Sladen’s acting. While performing incredibly courageous bordering on heroic feats, Sarah was constantly terrified of her surroundings. The fact that despite this terror, she continued to reputedly willingly put herself in danger to rescue the Doctor or other companions, made her much more relatable than either the “screamers” like Mel or Peri, the “fighters” like Ace or Rose, or the “brains” like Zoe or Martha. This may be why so many fans shipped her with the Fourth Doctor (Tom Baker), including their respective actors. (The BBC would like to assure viewers that no hanky-panky ever took place in the TARDIS during the classic series) In the revamped Doctor Who she returned as the disgruntled ex-companion, unceremoniously dumped in Aberdeen when the Doctor had to return to his home planet. She resolved her issues with the new Doctor and Rose, and then became the freelance alien investigator. Once Luke arrives on the scene in the SJA pilot, we get to see a new side of Sarah-Jane; how she copes with suddenly becoming the single parent of a teenage Spock. We have also seen episodes revolving around events in Sarah-Jane’s childhood; each one giving us a further insight and explanation of her character traits. Gone now is Sarah’s fear of alien life, she accepts the wonders of the universe with open arms; much like the Doctor himself.

In summary, I would like to submit the entire run of the Sarah-Jane Adventures as an example of how to make a good children’s Sci-fi show. Hell, or any sci-fi, or any children’s program. To be honest, it’s just good TV full stop. The current series can be caught on i-player. I recommend anyone who likes Doctor Who and is missing it during the hiatus to consider it a substitute, and anyone who just wants to see damn good acting to watch the first episode.

Where to begin? Perhaps as good a place as any is back in late 1963. One of the most charismatic world leaders of the twentieth century had just been assassinated (by, if the opening credits of Watchmen are to be believed, a former costumed vigilante working for the CIA) and several thousand miles away a new children’s television programme began, its opening episode delayed by a few minutes due to extended news coverage of events in Texas. Expected to run for perhaps six weeks, it proved highly popular and lasted another twenty-six years, spawning its own merchandise empire: books, toys, videotapes, magazines, comics, wallpaper, and a whole list of increasingly weird and unlikely (but profitable) other items. It also attracted legions of highly loyal fans (for several years during the 1980s I was a card-carrying, paid-up member of the DWAS myself) who ensured the programme’s survival in the decade-and-a-half between its cancellation in 1989 and its triumphant and critically acclaimed return in 2005 (modulo an unsuccessful and critically unacclaimed television movie in 1996).

During the interregnum, the series was kept alive by fans, for fans, in a range of original audio plays (many featuring veterans of the original series, including several former Doctors) and novels. The original novels can be divided into four distinct series: the New Adventures and Missing Adventures published by Virgin Books between 1991 and 1997, and the Eighth Doctor Adventures and Past Doctor Adventures published by BBC Books from 1997 until the return of the television series in 2005.

Unfettered by the requirements of a television series, the authors of these novels, many of them long-term fans, were relatively free to explore the possibilities offered by the series’ history. The penultimate New Adventure (and the last of the ongoing book series to feature the Seventh Doctor) Lungbarrow saw the culmination of the “Cartmel Masterplan” (an initiative by Andrew Cartmel, the television series’ script editor for the end of Sylvester McCoy’s tenure in the title role, intended to restore a sense of mystery and intrigue to the Doctor’s background). In this story, numerous loose ends are tied off, and much is revealed about the Doctor’s origin, his reasons for fleeing his home, and the ancient history of Gallifrey and the Time Lords themselves.

With the end of the New Adventures (the series continued, without the Doctor, but featuring the exploits of his former companion Professor Bernice “Benny” Summerfield) the BBC retrieved the licence from Virgin and commenced publication of the Eighth Doctor Adventures, following the adventures of the Paul McGann incarnation and developing his character far more than the television movie had.

The sixth of these new novels, Lawrence Miles’ Alien Bodies, introduced the spectre of a great, multiverse-spanning War between the Time Lords and an unspecified Enemy. Seeing which way the wind was blowing, a group of Time Lords (possibly the shadowy Celestial Intervention Agency) deleted themselves from the timeline entirely, becoming a collective of “conceptual entities” known as the Celestis. Amongst other things, we discover that the Doctor dies during the opening battle of the War, although it’s implied that by this point seriously weird things have happened to his personal timeline (or “biodata”, to use the correct term) and because of the causality-defying nature of the War itself, it’s not at all clear what his death actually means, or whether he’s even the same Doctor.

Anyway, what I want to talk about today is one of the other participants in the War: a time-active renegade voodoo cult named Faction Paradox, and it’s them that I want to talk about today. Founded by a renegade Time Lord (known only as “Grandfather Paradox”) who erased himself from the timeline, the Faction are a loose-knit collection of time-travelling cultists who wilfully break the Time Lords’ most sacred law: that history must not be rewritten. The Faction is structured like a family, with novices being given the title of Little Brother or Little Sister, and then promoted to the rank of Cousin upon their initiation as full members of the Faction; more senior members are addressed as Mother or Father, and the highest echelon (typically three at any one time) being the Godfathers and Godmothers.

The Faction participated to varying degrees in the War storyline, playing various sides off against each other for their own ends. During Lawrence Miles’ two-part novel Interference, they alter the Doctor’s past, introducing a spliced timeline in which his third incarnation didn’t die of radiation poisoning after defeating the Great Spider of Metebelis 3 (as any true fan of the series will be well aware) but is instead shot by a Faction agent on the planet Dust. Their aim is to subvert the Doctor to their own plans – needless to say this is ultimately unsuccessful, but causes some interesting side-effects along the way. They do succeed in subverting Fitz, one of the Doctor’s companions, who has his personal timeline monkeyed around with in a similar manner and acquires a shadowy alter persona Father Kreiner.

The Faction turn up to varying degrees in a few of the other BBC novels: Kate Orman and Jonathan Blum’s Unnatural History, Paul Cornell’s The Shadows of Avalon, and Simon Bucher-Jones and Mark Clapham’s The Taking of Planet Five before being finally wiped out (along with Gallifrey and almost all of the Time Lords) in the events of Peter Anghelides’ The Ancestor Cell.

Their involvement in Doctor Who having come to an end, the Faction were transplanted (by their original creator Lawrence Miles with assistance from several fellow writers) into a series of spin-off novels and audio plays (as well as a promising comic series which ran for two issues before going on indefinite hiatus due to its writer and artist being snowed-under with other things).

The new books (published by Mad Norwegian Press) and plays (the first of which were released by BBV Productions and subsequent installments by Magic Bullet) entirely appropriately rewrote the Faction’s history, excising any explicit references to elements from Doctor Who (the Time Lords became the Great Houses, TARDISes became Time Ships, Gallifrey became the Homeworld, and so forth).

The first in this new series was a fascinating encyclopaedia, The Book of the War which details the state of the universe (the “Spiral Politic”) some fifty years after (relative to some timeline) the end of the War in Heaven. The Faction’s original homeworld, Dronid, has been destroyed and the remaining cultists have set up home in the Eleven-Day Empire – a pocket universe situated in the eleven days which were deleted from the calendar when Britain switched from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar in October 1752. Mention is made of a breakaway group (led by Cousin-Thrice-Removed Anastasia) who seceded from the Empire to set up the Thirteen-Day Republic in 1917 Moscow.

The first actual novel, Lawrence Miles’ This Town Will Never Let Us Go follows the fortunes, over twenty-four hours, of several humans who come into contact with the Faction and their agents on 21st-century Earth: a would-be Faction initiate named Inangela, a pop star called Tiffany Korta whose public image is getting out of her control, and an ambulance driver named Valentine caught up in the War.

Philip Purser-Hallard’s Of the City of the Saved takes place in a colossal (galaxy-sized) city at the end of the universe, in which everyone who has ever lived has been resurrected. In Lance Parkin’s Warlords of Utopia, every parallel Earth where the Roman Empire endured is at war with every parallel Earth where the Nazi regime won the Second World War; oblique references to The Life of Brian and The Man in the High Castle are there if you know what to look for. Mags Halliday’s Warring States, set during the Boxer Rebellion, follows Cousin Octavia’s mission to obtain an artifact rumoured to bestow immortality. And in Kelly Hales’ Erasing Sherlock, a history graduate student from the future does some field research on the famous consulting detective of 221B Baker Street. This marks the end of Mad Norwegian’s series, but another novel (Newtons Sleep by Daniel Mahoney) has been published by Random Static.

The audio plays begin in the Eleven-Day Empire (whose ruling triumvirate consists of the Macchiavellian Godfather Morlock, the belligerent Godfather Sabbath, and the cronelike Godmother Quelch) and follow the fortunes of two young Faction initiates, Cousin Eliza and Cousin Justine. There’s some evidence to suggest that Eliza is actually Christine Summerfield (an alternate version of Bernice Summerfield living inside a bottle universe) recruited by the Faction after the events of Lawrence Miles’ New Adventure novel Dead Romance. As Eliza says, early on, Justine is the important one: introduced in Alien Bodies and now Godfather Morlock’s protegée, during the first play (The Eleven Day Empire) she is mystically imbued with what might be the Grandfather’s shadow (although in one of the later plays we meet another Faction initiate who also claims to be the bearer of the Grandfather’s shadow). As the narrative unfolds, we follow Justine and Eliza’s fortunes as they escape from the ruins of the Empire, wind up in 18th Century England (at a soirée organised by the Earl of Sandwich and the Hellfire Club), and then begin their efforts to restore the Faction to its former glory. The most recent plays have involved the Osirians (from the 1970s Doctor Who story Pyramids of Mars) with Gabriel Woolf reprising his role as Sutekh the Destroyer.

More information can be found at Wikipedia, Mad Norwegian Press, and an online forum.

The brainwave behind the Gumshoe system is in recognising that in any game where you have a trial of clues, breadcrumb-style, having characters rolls skills to find these crumbs is exactly the opposite of what you want. If the characters fail to discover a clue, suddenly the GM has to find a way of getting the clue into their hands, or leading them back to the story some other way. Not only is this frustrating, but it begs the question: ‘Why bother rolling in the first place?’. This system does away with that problem by saying that a single point in an investigative skill is sufficient to find the clue. No roll, no chance of failure. Further, it mandates that every single investigative skill should should be present in the party somewhere, so the chances of missing a clue are pushed even lower. There’s still a chance to excel, however, by spending points in a skill to get extra information. Sometimes this is useful, usually it is just to make the character look super-competent and have a moment of glory. Far from making the game seem hollow and unsatisfying, it places the emphasis where it should be- on interpreting the clues. By eliminating possiblities, the characters arrive at the actual course of events. If you’ve ever watched CSI or one of its clones, you’ll know the drill.

In parallel with this investigative system is a very stripped-down resolution mechanic for ordinary skills. As with investigative skills, you can spend points, but in this case the points add to your roll to give you a greater chance of success. Not a lot of depth, but sufficient to propel a short action sequence.

Mutant City Blues takes this framework and put its to use in a game that’s a mishmash of a police procedural drama and low-powered superheroes. I say low-powered, because although many of the abilities have potential to be very strong, there is not much zipping through the air and throwing cars about. The resource management of ordinary abilities applies to mutant powers too, so shepherding your potential is a wise move. Of course, the fact that the characters are meant to keep the peace rather than be agents of mayhem probably has something to do with that. The characters are police officers specialising in solving crimes with a mutant angle, and most of them will be mutants themselves.

There are 3 central conceits to the setting. The first is that is takes place 10 years in the future, which also happens to be 10 years since mutant powers started appearing, so society and law have had a chance to reach an accommodation with them. This avoids the complications of alternative histories and gives a clean slate for NPCs without having to pay lip-service to current politics. The second conceit is that the location is the nearest city the players are familiar with. This includes having prestigious mutant-related research facilities and religious communes spring up- for some reason the chosen city is just a hotbed of mutant activity. The third conceit is essential to the overlap between superpowers and police procedural- the Quade Diagram- a chart that tracks how powers are related and gives a sense of cohesion to the groups of powers criminals may have. This is backed up by a wealth of information on how investigative skills interact with these powers.

Taken together, these conceits make it surprisingly easy to run the game. I was expecting it to be quite hard work to run just from reading the book, but it turns out that the players are actually doing most of the hard work in linking things together. It can be hard not to correct them when they jump to an unwarranted assumption, but it’s part of the game to let them do so. If your style of GMing is at all improvisational, you should have no trouble running a session from minimal notes. I got into the habit of drawing a flowchart, showing how the clues in one scene might lead to another, but allowing the players to steer a different course if they want to.

It’s not a game without flaws, though. There’s a tendency to want a showdown at the end of a difficult case, with mutant powers put to the test and bullets flying. Unfortunately, the rules don’t support that kind of climax very well. There’s not quite enough crunch for it to be satisfying. If you want a short struggle ending with the perp in cuffs, it works nicely. Anything larger than that and it become unwieldy. Another small flaw is that there is remarkably little consistency in how the mutant powers are used from a rules persepctive. One power may say in the description that you spend 2 points to activate it; another power might be activated with 5. One might have a cimplicated chart of difficulties, requiring you to spend points like an ordinary ability in order to succeed. A third might even have no means of spending points- being on all the time. The Quade Diagram linking the abilities can be a little fiddly to use during character creation, and this is exacerbated by the fact that different abilities require a different number of points in them in order to be useful.

The worst flaws for me, though, are not in the game itself but in the presentation of the book. There are missing headings, duplicated passages, a murky cover and worst of all sections of rules that look to have been copy-pasted from another Gumshoe game without checking they’re still appropriate for Mutant City Blues.

Those problems aside, though, it’s still a joy to play and as television will attest, it’s impossible to run out of ideas for crimes to investigate. I plan on putting Mutant City Blues into heavy rotation on my Saturday evening RPG sessions.

The first thing I find is necessary for an adventure is an inspiration for the core theme – something big to happen so that the characters have some impetus to go out and do things. Following from a post on the forums about the use of music in roleplaying games, I’ve decided to use random music tracks from my iTunes library to try and come up with some ideas.

*shuffles*

Astronomy Domine, by Pink Floyd. There’s a sea-motif, and a mention of “Stars can frighten…you” … some kind of meteor falls into a nearby sea, releasing a wave of Lovecraftian critters? That’s probably as far as that one stretches, so next song.

Dancing with the Moonlit Knight, by Genesis. This one’s theme is undermining from within – perhaps instead of a frontal attack on the beaches, these monsters are corrupting people from within? Another idea strikes – perhaps they’re immaterial, so the PCs will have to find some solution other than violence.

But this begs the question ‘What is that solution?’. I don’t feel (and this is a view I believe many GMs share) that it’s good to have only a single solution to a problem you throw at the party. It is, however, good to have at least one solution. Not having a solution at all and just expecting the players to ‘come up with something’ can be almost as bad as forcing them into finding your One True Path. The best option, have you the time for it, is to make sure there’s at least two solutions, and be ready for any creative alternatives.

In this case, for example, there may well be some leader of these spirit creatures, that can be tracked down and defeated in some manner. Some players will try to defeat it by attacking – but we were trying for some other solution. This means we need a reason why this doesn’t work – maybe they’re posessing innocent people, so it’s a possible solution, but definitely not the best one. Maybe it can be defeated by exorcising it in some way – if the system has rules for such a thing (and if not, think about making some up and dropping a hint earlier in the session). Maybe it has to be defeated in a riddle contest to drive it out. Maybe it abhors the touch of silver. Think of a few options so players with knowledge-based skills can have a chance to use them to good effect.

Then again, maybe there isn’t a leader, or the party don’t think of that. In this case, we apply Schrödinger’s Gun – if the party don’t look for him, the solution is different. The meteor they arrived on could be their link to this world, and destroying it will cause them to be forced away. It could be the meteor was only the herald of their arrival, and the party only need survive long enough for the stars to go out of alignment.

You’ll notice I’ve gone off on four or so different tangents here – this is the way I prefer to prepare sessions. There are really three options here – a linear plot, where the characters must do A, followed by B and then C, finishing with D. Then there’s the open-matrix plan. After A, they could go anywhere they like. This, obviously, means you have to have nearly everything around them ready. Then there’s the closed-matrix plan – supposedly a compromise between a lack of direction and too much railroading. After A, they can do B or C. If they go to B, they can get to D, E or F – from C, they can get to F, G or H. In this way, the characters have an impact on the way the session develops, but you can still plan ahead and be ready for most things they try to do.

Of course, it’s much easier to do a linear plot, and most of the time you won’t have time to write out a full closed-matrix plan. How do you deal with it if instead of going to the harbour, they head up into the mountains? The wrong answer is to stop them going to the mountains. This feels forced, and breaks the immersion of the game. Instead, let them go to the mountains and adapt what you’ve written to their actions. Why could the mountains be important? Maybe because the attack is from space, the PCs need to be high up to retaliate. Transplant as much as you can to the new location, and keep rolling. Remember that the players don’t know what was going to be the case if they went to the sea.

So what do we have so far? To get the PCs interested, our ‘hook’ is the meteor in the bay. Then, once they’re headed toward it (or not, as the case may be) they find people acting oddly. They should figure out pretty soon the meteor’s behind this, and either try to cure it or attack the meteor itself. Think down those branches and sketch out some ideas. By the time we get this far, we’ll probably have deviated from the plan enough, so we want to find a way to either nudge the players toward the final encounter we’re planning, or move it to a place they’ll encounter it.

As you can see, it’s not necessarily difficult. The plot I’ve outlined here was made without a system or location in mind, but could easily be used in D&D in Greyhawk or Feng Shui in Hong Kong. If you know what you’re writing and who you’re writing it for, you can obviously tailor it much better to what you know your players will do and what you know about the world they’re in. But, lastly and most importantly, don’t be afraid to improvise, even if things are going exactly as planned (or the opposite); if inspiration strikes in the middle of a session, run with it!

And now, I figure I’ll give you (the readers) a chance to decide the next blog post I write (if and when I get round to it).

Before I begin I should not I’ve not yet had a chance to play any of these games (but since when was that necessary – that would be like actually eating at a restaurant you’re reviewing) so this is more a review of these games as books and fiction than as play-aids though volunteers are welcome to help me reach a stage where I *can* review these games as play-aids.

First up -

Bliss Stage: -

Bliss stage is a game by Ben Lehman and is far from conventional. Bliss Stage is a game about the lives, drama and relationships of those adolescents who must step up to fight off Alien invaders seven years from now after the world has gone to hell and all the adults have fallen into a deep slumber. The heroes fight off these aliens by using a machine called an ANIMa (Alien Numina Inversion Machine) which allows them to form giant mecha made up of their relationships.

The game is designed to bring those relationships to the forefront by placing them as core mechanics – your mecha isn’t just metaphorically powered by your relationships – your relationships actually are parts of the mecha – if you and Susan are on the rocks then the flight pack that is your relationship with Susan may falter. Similarly if your flight pack is damaged then your relationship with Susan will suffer. This seems to be a fantastic method of emulating the particular genre that Bliss Stage aims to recreate – anime such as Neo Genesis Evangelion and others in a similar vein. The premise explains why there are adolescent rather than adult pilots and the mechanics appear to reinforce the truly messed relationships that appear in these shows.

The text itself suffers from a problem that many RPG texts suffer from – interconnected mechanics. Whilst pushing through the text will leave you with a solid understanding of how the game works, the fact that so many parts of the game rely on other parts of it (even to the extent of “Just how does a mission work?” or “What do these numbers mean though?”) means that the going can be slow and tough. Additionally, a single read through didn’t leave me with the certainty that other games have  left me with on a single read. Whilst I felt inspired (though admittedly it doesn’t take much to excite and inspire my imagination), I *didn’t* feel confident enough that I could present the game without the text present; which given the fact it is PDF only I felt was a problem. The mechanics are not terribly complicated but there is just enough structure that one has to bear in mind that the text seems necessary.

The particular version of the text I have is the so called “Interim Stage” which is, I’m sure by no means the final version and thus these problems are likely to be mitigated in future versions (and they are by no means crippling) but it isn’t currently perfect.

However there are several touches in the text that just ooze with atmosphere. The posters for one, as well as the suggestion that the action be located near the physical location of play and the insistence that this is happening in seven years to reinforce the familiar amongst the alien.

Monsters and Other Childish Things: -

Just to demonstrate the breadth of utility found in ORE (the One Roll Engine used in Reign and Wild Talents), Monsters and Other Childish Things presents a very different kind of game. The opening “fiction” – written if I’m not mistaken by a child’s hand – illustrates perfectly what the game is about – children and their not-always-quite-so-invisible friends who don’t necessarily understand that it is not ok to eat Dad’s slippers or next door’s dog or Uncle Joe.

MaOCT presents in very simple easy terms how everything works – from the mechanics of the game to life as a child. The text is fantastic at both and illustrates what the game is about and how it is played with a clarity that is a joy to behold. The texts gives good advice on how to run and play in a MaOCT game and how to modify it for short or long term play; for different age PCs (or players); and for a lighter or darker tone despite the default tone falling on the darker side of things.

The damage mechanics – linking  health and stats is inspired I feel and the use of emotional damage both reinforces the kind of scuffles children get into and their relative frailty compared to adults. The way monsters and children are linked seems perfect – though it does seem to preclude a game based more on Pokemon where a child may have multiple monsters (though there are a couple of easy/obvious workarounds). Similar to Bliss Stage above – and indeed many other games – relationships have a mechanical weight and a strong one can buoy even the frailest child (as seems only appropriate).

The only complaint that springs to mind – and it’s so ridiculous it’s barely worth mentioning – is that because the text predates the second edition of Wild Talents the advice for how one works out in terms of the other is out of date. Stupid I know. The game didn’t have anything else I could get annoyed about though.

Maid: -

So Bliss Stage defaults to being pretty dark, and Monsters and Other Childish Things is quite easy to play as either light or dark, Maid is by default so light it’ll float away if you’re not careful.

Maid is a game about playing um, maids, in the mansion of a master who you must look after. In many ways the game acts as a counterpoint to My Life With Master – focussing on less abusive relationships and the zany adventures maids have.

The game itself is a translation – it was originally a Japanese RPG and can only possibly make sense in that context. Whilst a huge amount of effort has been expended to make sure that all the humour translates, it seems to me that Maid is a game that requires a very specific audience – one that is either familiar enough with RPGs that the phrase “A My Life With Master/Toon mashup” means a fun evening or campaign or one that is familiar enough with Japanese culture (and more specifically the kind of Manga/Anime that Maid emulates) that the idea of playing a game based on it is not two different culture shocks.

The mechanics are incredibly simple with the favour (from the Master) working as both an experience value, a metagame currency and your ultimate health track. Favour is constantly being gained and lost with actions that impress the Master likely to gain greater amounts of Favour. This hopefully results in a constant focus on the Master in order to excel.

The book is full of tables to roll on for random events, costumes, weather and scenery – either to provide lists for inspiration or to allow the game to flow almost completely from a series of dice rolls and a willingness to react to the kind of zaniness that happens when a vampire catgirl, alien witch and angel robot all try to keep their young Master out of trouble and get the laundry done without being disturbed by demon ninja. Or something.

Additionally the book provides several play write ups to provide examples of play and a handful of suggested scenarios which illustrate the game both with and without all of the various bells and whistles that are provided.

IPR: -

Finally a word or two about Indie Press Revolution where I purchased these games. Whilst I was slightly irritated about the ridiculous cost to ship the books (almost as much as the games themselves) which was partly due to the fact that there was no bog standard second class international mail option, the books arrived in little over a week after placing the order and included a free gift (a sourcebook for a city for Champions) which was a pleasant surprise. The other advantage to the site (aside from providing some books I couldn’t find elsewhere) was that there were both PDF and hardcopies for Maid and Monsters and Other Childish Things (Bliss Stage was only available as a PDF).

All in all I was pleased with my purchases and the purchasing of them (and if anyone wants to volunteer to take any of these games for a test drive just let me know). Join me next time when I review something else.

Keep on gaming,

Shadowmourne…

Outlawed by the government

Hunted by the police

Fighting for their own survival, as civilisation breaks down around them

The 21^st Century was when everything changed

And Torchwood wasn’t ready…

“Torchwood: Children of Earth” was a five-day “event” broadcast on BBC1, that also documented five days in the lives of the three surviving members of the Cardiff-based Torchwood team. Captain Jack Harkness, the immortal Time Agent from the 29^th Century, his boyfriend Ianto Jones, former member of the London based Torchwood (and brewer of the best coffee in the British Isles) and Welsh ex-policewoman Gwen Cooper. Gwen’s eternally-suffering boyfriend Rhys, is also reluctantly along for the ride.

At the opening of the story, Torchwood, and the rest of the world are faced with a mystery. Around the globe, every single child, at the same time, stops whatever they were doing, and stand immobile. They then, in unison, speak (in English, no matter were they are in the world) the simple phrase “We are coming.” the effect soon leaves them and the children appear to have no memory of it. As more clues are collected, evidence points to London as the site for the arrival of… whatever it is. And what deal was made in the 1940s between the British Government, and the mysterious alien race known only as the Four Five Six?

This story dwells deeper into the backgrounds of Jack and Ianto than previous ones, as we get to meet both their families. Russell T Davies has become more imaginative with his use of Jack’s immortality to drive a story and is unafraid to take it to its logical extremes.

The terror of this story (and it is a truly chilling tale) derives from three main sources. Firstly, the major threat is directed at children. The Four Five Six announce their arrival via the Earth’s children, and demonstrate what power and control they have over them, through this. This adds an extra edge to everything that happens, as many of the characters are parents. Secondly, our lack of knowledge. We do not know who the Four Five Six are, what they look like, what they want, what they are capable of, or even their real name for themselves. Some of this is gradually revealed, but this only adds to the horror, as the questions are answered in the worst possible way. Thirdly, there is the impossible demands the Four Five Six place on the leaders of the world, and the terrible consequences if they do not obey. There is no way to strike back against the Four Five Six, and there is no doubt that they are capable of wiping out the entire human race with little trouble. What we are faced with then, is the knowledge that the atrocities being committed by the Powers That Be (the British Government, the US army and UNIT mostly), are in the name of Saving the Earth. There might very well be no way to stop what is happening. And, at the back of your mind, wondering whether, if an all-powerful alien turned up, and did make these secret demands and threats of the government, would they have no choice but to give in?

The story also stands on the strong foundation of its supporting characters. Immediately springing to mind is Civil Servant John Frobisher, the Permanent Under Sectary to the Home Office, who is reluctantly appointed liaison between the United Nations and the Four Five Six, faced with the impossible task of keeping Britain’s previous involvement with them secret, as well as protecting his own daughters from alien or Prime Ministerial attention. Frobisher is appointed to this position for his experience, skill and total disposability. His physical deteriation under this enormous stress is very well portrayed. Another supporting character is Lois Abeba, just starting on her first day in the Home Office, answering the phones, who is plunged into the middle of the action by receiving a phone call from Captain Jack meant for her boss. There are many others too, far too many to list here. Davies’ initial idea for the story was to focus on the idea of official first contact, and it is testament to his twisted imagination that the first request made by an alien being to the peoples of Earth was:

“We want… your children….  Ten percent… We want ten percent of the children of this world…. Or we will wipe out your entire civiliseation.”

Consider this demand for a moment. The mind boggles. And the government has NO CHOICE but to concede to these demands. The threat of human extinction cannot simply be ignored. As the event progresses, the plight of those working with the aliens (mostly the Civil Service) is shown to be just as severe as that of Torchwood.

I would definitely recommend anyone who loves suspense, drama or adventure to catch the repeats or find a recording of Children of Earth, even if you aren’t fond of Torchwood or Doctor Who. You will be amazed.

Why it’s this utterly bizzare but lovable movie.

Supposedly there was a smith who crafted a device which promised any who opened it happiness. Only it could only be opened by his son.

Only in his moment of utter despair.

Seems sane so far. Well the son is also destined to confront a demon – the last child of the Nocktress (an evil demon). Defeating the demon will free the child from the cycle of death and rebirth.

So far so good. I can’t say I’m familiar with the Kalevala (the Epic supposedly used in the plot) but this all seems comfortably familiar in terms of epic plots.

The story switches back and forth between the then of pre-dynastic China where we see the son of the smith demonstrate some impressive Kung Fu action and the now of modern Finland where a pathetic smith whose girlfriend has left him and is being consulted by a rather strange middle aged man.

This is all well and good but what does that mean for the movie?

Well despite the undoubtedly unique story, the actual techniques involved don’t seem to be particularly untested. There have been plenty of films that have employed many effects and plot devices that Jade Warrior makes use of. The cut back and forth between the two “seemingly unrelated” plots is hardly unique to the film nor is it in any way the originator of the technique. Still, Jade Warrior still manages to fluff the thing up – it’s not necessarily *confusing* but it seems lacking.

The Kung Fu is similarly affected. The actual fight sequences are beyond amazing – the introduction of the “Son of the Smith” is perhaps one of the most impressive fight sequences I’ve seen and it only gets better from there. Anyone who wants inspiration for a martial arts characters in an RPG could do far worse than watching the impressive kung fu action.

Unfortunately there is a caveat to the Kung Fu. Simply speaking, there’s not enough of it. The action is so impressive it saddens me that there isn’t more. Worse though, the action sequences seem to only detract from the alternative story about the huge distance between two people doomed never to know love and in turn detract from itself.

(At this point I realise it’s taken me about a fortnight to write this review and I’ve still not said much – let’s get to the meat of my thoughts)

Basically, I thought the movie was good but not as good as it could have been and weird in both a positive and a negative way.

It was very good for what it was but every element seemed somewhat lacking. The kung fu was good, but there was not enough. The story was interesting but failed to convey itself as well as it could have done. It left me feeling lacking – like I wanted to see it again at twice the length with things done better. (At 80 or so minutes double the length would still be within the respectable bounds of film length these days).

All in all it conveyed the central strangeness impressively and the martial arts that there is must be seen to be believed. The story is, in its own way, quite amusing and moving. Who knows?

To compare, I watched Pan’s Labrynth later on that same day and felt by contrast that that film hit all the buttons in the right way. Whilst it lacked the Wu Xia action of Jade Warrior it managed to convey things like the stragneness, the mythic quality and the dual life/story in a way that took my breath away. Whilst I know that Pan’s Labrynth is both famous and acclaimed and Jade Warrior might be known by three other people in this country, I feel the contrast is apt.

I’d encourage people to see the movie – it’s far from a waste of time but don’t expect it to be the greatest movie of your life ever.

Next time on Stuart’s reviews, we look at the strange world of teen vampire romance as I opine on the much talked about novel Twilight.

Join me then.

Stuart…

This saddens me – it was a fantastic read and how many more of Bank’s novels might I have read in that time. Ah well, on with the review.

Consider Phlebas is a “Culture” novel – the Culture being what one might call a galactic federation or empire if it weren’t for the fact that it has pushed individual self-determinism so far that there is no real governmental system – the whole being of the Culture is seemingly guided by two things – a sort of hedonistic morality that is balanced by the Minds – constructed intelligences so vast that they bear and can provide no comparison to human intelligence.

All this is a backdrop for the plot. The Culture is at war with a species known as the Idirans (tripedal, immortal, hermaphrodite religious warriors) and a newly birthed mind has found itself on a neutral planet under the auspices of a third “species” – a group of supposedly advanced energy-like beings.

The Idirans, wanting this mind for themselves (for reasons that can only be described as “mumble mumble plot war mumble”) send a “Changer” (a human sub-species genetically engineered as shape-changing spies and assassins in a war so long ago that it has been forgotten) to go and recover this Mind. Why a Changer? Well apparently they (the Changers) maintain a research station on this planet and when you have the ultimate spy, who better to send?

Our poor Changer seemingly stumbles from one misadventure to the next as he tries to manipulate those around him into doing what he wants whilst not giving the game away.

This all sounds overly harsh. The characters are incredibly well written and convincing. The non baseline humans (i.e. everyone) actually think differently and acknowledge that they’re not human – our Changer hero has no problem using his malleable body in all manner of ways and the perspectives of both the Idirans and the Minds similarly provide very different viewpoints.

The plot keeps moving the whole time and we are rarely stopped for needless exposition and explanation – we never find out specifics of for example the Changers’ abilities except in broad terms but we are never left feeling confused about terminology or techno-babble.

Additionally there are plenty of twists and turns that make the reader keep turning the page. Do we support the Changer Protagonist who is seemingly working for the enemy – I at least automatically sided with the Human Culture against the Idirans – speciest I know… How long are the various secondary characters going to stay along for – in Banks’ warring universe life is cheap even for the most fleshed out of characters.

Whilst I might have sided with the Culture, Banks is certainly not providing a one sided view. We are presented with members of the Culture (human and Mind), Idirans and Idiran supporters (such as the Changers), and all manner of neutral parties who each provide their own insight into the events and into the Culture which is by no means perfect even from the view of its own citizens.

All in all, Consider Phlebas, is a compelling and interesting read that provides an enjoyable mix of traditional space opera with a modern examination of aliens, future technology and such like. It provides that same kind of rich characterisation and detail that one might find in a “proper” novel whilst providing those elements that speculative fiction is unmatched in – philosophical nuggets, a fun story and intellectual pondering.

I encourage you all to ask our Book Librarian why the society doesn’t seem to have a copy of this first rate novel.

Join me next week as I opine on the strange Finnish movie Jade Warrior.

Stuart…

The problem is, I’m not convinced it’s really in need of remedy. Or at least, one we can provide.

You can attempt to fall back on rather dodgy evolutionary psychology arguments to explain the disparity, but that then implies that the men at the gaming table are channelling their inner Thog and dreaming of running down an antelope with a spear. Pointing at gender stereotypes in society in general and how they interact with gamer stereotypes is probably a more reasonable explanation. The social pressures applied to women are many and varied (and really beyond the scope of this article), and despite all the gaming community’s attempts to put things to rights we’re still generally portrayed as weirdos with B.O. who have never touched a girl. Where society continually tells women that they should only take an interest in grown-up things, the inventive whimsy of role-playing doesn’t stand a chance. The negative portrayal of gamers is just icing on the cake. The former is not our fault. The latter we have to take some responsibility for (at least those of us who conform to it- you know who you are), but the sad fact is we’ll probably never be rid of it, given the lazy portrayals that always crop up in TV and film.

How others see us.

Another argument is that the gaming community is unwelcoming. Now how true this is depends on your own group, but I’ve never been a part of one where the arrival of an stranger causes everyone to stare at them viciously, and the dice stop mid-roll. It’s hardly universal. Another flaw in that argument is that if a group is unwelcoming, it’s likely to be unwelcoming for any newcomer- and to say that women are more prone to being driven away is a sexist argument. That said, I’m sure we’ve all encountered That One Guy, that the rest of us only tolerate out of a sense of duty because he’d be even worse if he was ostracised from the one group he feels at home in. The trouble is, such people get noticed more than the rest of us. The artwork of RPGs is often cited as being sexually exploitative. My perception is that it’s pretty much equal-opportunity exploitative- and it’s only the wider reality (where the ‘woman as sex object’ is regrettably common) that makes it seem grotesquely objectifying. The portrayals of men in RPG artwork are equally unobtainable ideals of whatever archetype they fall under, so it’s not asymmetric. You are free to lech over whatever picture you want in our world. Plus, even if there was an agreement to completely expurgate those images for the next 50 years I doubt it would make much difference to the uptake of the hobby amongst women. Let’s face it; the portrayal of women in adverts targeted at them is often more poisonous to the ideas of female equality and autonomy than anything you’ll see in a randomly selected RPG book.

The first long-running campaign I ran as GM actually had a gender disparity the other way. Although most of the players would be termed ‘casual’ in that they wouldn’t turn up every week, didn’t have a broad-ranging knowledge of RPGs and were only playing that one game at the time. And you know what? The females playing females characters ran them exactly as the stereotypical ‘male playing a female character’ would do, right down to the wardrobe malfunctions and seduction as the tool for any job. Why? Because it’s funny, and genre-appropriate. Sadly, most of that group has moved away from the area now (although one has moved back- I must make a persuasion check at some point to bring her back into the fold).

People are individuals. That, for me, is the most important point. I’ve not seen a qualitative difference between female and male role-players that would stand up to statistical scrutiny. And that’s before we even consider people who don’t conform to the lazy biological dichotomy. I would like to see more women in the hobby, but only in the same way that I would like to see more people in the hobby. I’m not fussy. The big thick, dividing line between the sexes can be a very powerful tool when diagnosing society’s ills, but applied too often it becomes an ill in its own right. The sad part is that there is probably a demographic of women who would really, really, enjoy role-playing but would never consider giving it a whirl because of the obstacles society puts in their way. That’s saddening. Worse, there’s not really much the RPG community can do about these obstacles, as they are so deeply rooted in society.

Actually there is one thing we can do. The next time That One Guy starts shouting in a newcomer’s presence, tackle him to the ground.

The theme of both the novel and the film was simply a deconstruction of the Silver Age ideal of the flawless superhero. They focus on a small group of “retired” costumed adventurers, as they investigate the death of one of their number; the Comedian. The film follows the graphic novel very closely; to the extent of mimicking the camera angles in certain scenes. The effects, acting and directing were exceptional, bringing the characters to life. In particular the cold detachedness of Doctor Manhattan, as he calmly pointed out that a livening human body has the same number of molecules as a dead human body, so strictly speaking there was no difference, was spot on.

The only criticism I have heard about the movie, is the directors choice of music for the soundtrack. I would disagree, and say that the music does fit the scenes it is used for, and although “the times they are a-changin’” might appear too light hearted for the grimdark Watchmen universe; it offsets the montage being shown very well, as well as being appropriate music for the period.

Watchmen is set in an alternative history, were the Golden Age superhero comics of the 30s and 40s inspired real people to fight crime as masked adventurers. Originally, none of these costumed adventurers had superpowers, and were considered by the media as something of a joke. This changes, however, with the emergence of Doctor Manhattan; an American nuclear physicist given almost godlike power in a freak lab accident; becomes the first, and only, powered hero, and, according to the government and the media, a champion of the American way.
The presence of Doctor Manhattan warps history, as not only does he make the electric car economically viable by creating lithium batteries from thin air, but he almost single handily leads the US to victory in the Vietnam War. Later, a police strike prompts the government to pass the Keene act, making costumed heroes illegal, with the exception of those who work directly for them; namely the Comedian and Doctor Manhattan. The psychotic vigilante Rorschach continues to operate illegally. The story begins during the Cold War, where the question of whether the existence of Doctor Manhattan will defuse or escalate the conflict is raised.

Warning: Spoilers follow!

Now, the theme of Watchmen is that heroes are never as good as we expect them to be, and that the very concept of the secret identity creates a lack of accountability. Marvel comics attempted (and failed) to mimic this theme in their Civil War crossover, but only achieved in making Tony Stark and Reed Richards look like crazed fanatics, largely because the writers did not agree with the moral they were supposed to be putting forward.

Rorschach:

“Computer unnecessary. Give me smallest finger on man’s hand. Will find information.”

Rorschach exemplifies this concept; he essentially uses the anonymity granted by his “heroic” identity in order to impose his form of strict morality on the world around him. Rorschach’s journal entries revel his biases; he speaks of “sex and murder”, although as the psychologist’s report later shows, his disgust of the sexual act can be traced back to his childhood traumas. He speaks of one super-heroine as dying “a victim of her depraved lifestyle” and we later learn that she was murdered in an anti-lesbian hate crime. He also shows affinity to the right wing, but this shouldn’t be surprising given his actions. Rorschach’s philosophy is detailed to the prison psychologist when he says “truth is, God didn’t kill that girl. And it wasn’t fate, or the Devil. A man did it.” Rorschach firmly believes (as his name suggests) that the only pattern in events is the one we place on it, and we cannot blame our actions on anyone but ourselves. He even manages to bring the psychologist around to a similar view. Rorschach further has the view that by witnessing evil, and failing to prevent it, we are as guilty as the perpetrator; this made it impossible for him to retire from his vigilante roll, and unable to compromise on his morals, even to save billions of lives. “No. Even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise.”

Let’s be honest here, Rorschach is insane. His arguments may sound reasonable, but so, at first glance, do the Sith or Slaaneshi philosophies; it’s only when you think them through to their ultimate conclusion that the true horror emerges. Rorschach is psychologically incapable of forgiveness, and regards almost all crimes as punishable by death. And the frightening thing is, that Rorschach’s activities are only a very small step removed from those of someone like Batman or Captain America or Iron Man. And an even smaller step from his inspiration the Question. In fact, Captain America is a decent allegory of Rorschach; in that he disguises himself, and uses that anonymity to force people to conform to his values with the threat of violence. All right, it’s a different set of values, but how precisely is this different from what Rorschach does? A disturbing thought.

Doctor Manhattan:

“The morality of my actions escapes me.”

Doctor Manhattan’s power causes him to drift apart from humanity, and become obsessed with quantum theory and thermodynamics. Manhattan is passive, he allows his father, and later the government to largely control him, despite the fact that he could destroy them with a thought. Doctor Manhattan was based on Captain Atom, but he can be seen as a deconstruction of any sufficiently advanced superhero. “Any sufficiently advanced aliens are indistinguishable from gods.” Surely, this would apply to Superman?

My experience playing Exalted, has given me, I think, something of an insight into what it might be like to be a superhero. To a Solar Exalted, mortals quickly become nothing more than a distraction, a mild inconvenience. Exaltation sharpens both the body and the mind, so that ordinary humans appear slow and stupid. It is not surprising, that even without the Great Curse, so many of the Solars stopped thinking of mortals as real people. It is so easy to forget that not everyone can laugh off a blow from a sledgehammer.

Doctor Manhattan’s withdrawal into his work makes perfect sense, when he operates on a level so far above everyone else. Could this not happen so easily to sufficiently powered heroes too?

Ozymandias:

“For I am Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works ye mighty and despair.”

Ozymandias bills himself as “the smartest man on Earth”. He appears at first to be happily retired and living off his fame, but we later learn the truth is much more sinister.

Now, examine the morality of Ozymandias’ plan. He has killed thousands of people, by Rorschach’s philosophy, that automatically makes him the villain. But, from the entirely objective viewpoint such as that of Doctor Manhattan, he has killed thousands to save billions, and is thus, mathematically a hero.

The arrogance of Ozymandias’ decision to take the world into his own hands is staggering. People criticise Reed Richards for not being proactive enough, but does Ozymandias not exemplify what a proactive Richards would be like?

The Comedian:

“What happened to the American dream? You’re looking at it. It came true. Turns out it was a joke. And I’m the punchline.”

Violent, and slightly unhinged, the Comedian is what might be considered a postmodernist version of the Joker, in that he fights crime, but ironically, mocking his own profession. There are many similarities between his dialogue and that of the Joker in the Killing Joke by the same author.

The Comedian’s activities are actually sanctioned by the in-universe government, something that the Comedian himself finds hilarious. He appears to be experimenting on how far he can go before he is shut down. This includes shooting a pregnant woman, gunning down civilians who get in his way and attempting to rape Silk Spectre I. And nobody stops him. Why? The answer might be a combination of fear and confusion, on the part of those who could, and his ability to strike focused blows at the psyche of those who get in his way, to make them doubt their own view of the world.

Nite Owl II / Silk Spectre II:

“No matter how dark things got, through those goggles,they always seemed brighter.”

Nite Owl and Silk Spectre represent a ray of hope in the bleakness of the Watchmen universe. They save many people from a burning building, perhaps the only truly heroic act in the entire series.

True, Nite Owl is perhaps more of a thrill seeker than someone with completely altruistic motives, but at the end of the day, he and Silk Spectre are saving lives. What they then choose to use their costumes for in the privacy of their own bedroom is none of our business. Provided they wash them afterword.

Nite Owl, I think, shows us that there are, even in such bleak situations, still people who are basically good at heart. Commissioner Gordon fills a similar roll in the Killing Joke, as does the Joker’s failed “ferries” experiment in The Dark Knight. This shows, I think, how ahead of his time Alan Moore was, already having passed through the grimdark Iron Age/Dark Age mentality, and begun to insert the idea that not all humans are evil into his work.

I think Nite Owl does demonstrate that one can be flawed, yet still be a good person. And I think that is the message that should be taken home from Watchmen. It is not on our philosophy or motive that we are judged; but our actions. Nite Owl doesn’t really have a worldview beyond trying to do the best he can for those around him, and he comes off as the hero of the piece, despite the very strong worldviews of the Comedian, Ozymandias and Rorschach, because they do only evil in the furtherance of them. Two thousand years ago a carpenter from Nazareth stood upon a hill by lake Galilee and said “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the Earth.” And this is precisely what happens at the end of the novel, when Nite Owl and Silk Spectre are the only ones who remain not dead, not ascended to a higher plane of existence, and not forever consumed by guilt, and so only they remain to live in Ozymandias’ utopia.

That’s my take on things anyway. Feel free to disagree.