Posted in February 2009

Rupert Murdoch, champion of standards

Let’s not dwell on the journalistic atrocities he’s been responsible for,  Rupert Murdoch definitely knows about making money from the media. And if he says that:

Our competitors will be sorely tempted to take the easy beat, to reduce quality in the search for immediate dividends. [...] Let me be very clear about our company: where others might step back from their commitment to their viewers, their users, readers and customers – we will renew ours.

then maybe just maybe constant margin-cutting (see today’s earlier post) isn’t such a bang-up solution to the traditional media’s problems. Or maybe it’s an ingenious bluff, and once all the other media companies have smothered themselves with production staff, News International will shake the lot off and romp home on Myspace-derived content. You never can tell with Murdoch.

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Subbed out

typeset by cybertoad

(Picture by Cybertoad.)

Sub editors: dispensible, according to Roy Greenslade, anyway. Strictly, he’s right, in that if any part of the team that gets text onto pages could be dismissed, it’s the part concerned with style and accuracy. There would still be journalists to write words, pages would get filled, papers could be sold. The mechanical process of fixing grammar and spellos could be outsourced, says Greenslade, or journalists could check over each others stories. The subs in the comments at the Press Gazette story are, reasonably enough, outraged: one commenter accuses him of “[doing] his best to see a whole raft of journalists lose their jobs. But Greenslade probably isn’t wrong. If he’s guilty of something, it’s of enthusiastically welcoming something which is already happening and already contributing to general journalistic lousiness.

Nick Davies’ Flat Earth News points out that subs at BBCi are encouraged to do their job by reading over writers’ shoulders as the copy is written. At the Sunday Express, they’ve already cut most of their subs and consequently the paper is publishing spectacular balls about “floating islands” and “heroine addicts”. That’s self-evidently pretty poor and embarrassing for the paper. Has it hurt the paper? Well, ABCs are falling universally, and while the Sunday Express is doing notably badly, it’s still not losing sales as quickly as some (goodbye, Sindy). So you couldn’t really say that the poor quality of the paper’s copy is directly hurting it.

But then, the Sunday Express might be hilariously awful but it isn’t uniquely bad. Print media is feeling the competition from the internet, so resources are getting more and more restricted. The result is that the stuff you read in the papers is increasingly like what you could find online: roughly written, sensationalist and confirmed only by cursory checks. Often, papers are simply publishing things they’ve seen on the internet. Running a viral email as a news story is cheap for the paper, but the effect is probably just to push more readers towards the internet where they could get this for free. If the print media responds to online competition by becoming exactly like the internet, they’re going to rationalise themselves out of existence. Greenslade can’t be faulted for pointing to a trend. But he’s really, really foolish to pretend that the trend will have no effect on content when it obviously already is.

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[Theatre review] If I Were A Carpenter

if-i-were-a-carpenterOriginally published in Venue, issue 855. It’s not quite a kicking, but it’s a fair summary of the least enjoyable experience I’ve ever had to slap a number on.

The Provocation company takes a hammer to the idea of social mobility in this new play by Dougie Blaxland, and most of the blows fall short of the target. If I Were A Carpenter presents three families (aspirational upper-middle class, beleaguered working class, and miscreant underclass) facing various cultural and economic crises, all ending in almightily signposted tragedy.

The five-actor cast makes game work of portraying multiple interlinked characters, though the sudden shifts can be disconcerting with only the adoption of some wobbly northern accents to steer the audience through (because the poor are always with us, and they always come from Yorkshire). Additionally, the cast take on the role of chorus, declaiming awkward couplets in the person of various institutions: government, NHS, DVLA (not really), UCAS (really).

But by presenting the instruments of state as the impersonal agents of social repression nurturing what one character calls “the conveyor belt generation”, the play misses the most potent satirical point: institutions fail most often by cock-up, not conspiracy. The flat characters fail to ignite any feeling for the stereotyped issues, and in the end, carpentry doesn’t even come into it. It’s just used as a cipher for honourable manual labour, but the play is so clumsy there’s no sign of workmanship at all.

**

IF I WERE A CARPENTER, RONDO THEATRE, BATH, WED 4 FEB TO SAT 7 FEB.

Text © Sarah Ditum, 2009. Image from Provocation.

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Vermin and critics

You know I love Pixar. One of the things that Pixar do supremely well is to make up new, self-contained worlds existing parallel to the real human one. And while Pixar’s animations have an extraordinary depth of humanity, the humans in the films are nearly always the menace to the fictional world. In Monsters Inc, kids are infectious agents who have to be confined and cleansed. In Toy Story, the toys are painfully vulnerable to their owners’ changing affections. And it’s the same in Ratatouille: humans threaten the rat-heroes with poison, guns and gibbets. When gastronomically-gifted rat Remy forms a bond with aspiring chef Linguine, the human world still menaces, in the form of a grasping head chef and a baddie food critic Anton Ego.

Anton Ego(Image © Disney/Pixar.) Wait, the villain is a critic? It seems almost churlish for a movie-making team who have had a conspicuously (and deservedly) smooth run with reviewers to make an assault on critics (Ratatouille hauls in a stupendous 96% fresh rating on the Tomatometer), but there you are. And not only is Ego a critic, but he’s a vociferously negative critic who rediscovers pleasure in a moment of Proustian bliss, then issues a long and thoughtful mea culpa before giving up criticism for creation:

In many ways the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and themselves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to a new talent, new creations. The new needs friends…

This is a description that marks critics as inferior to what they criticise. They’re parasites on culture. They’re feeding on the detritus. They’re vermin. They’re like rats, and maybe in a film where the emotional denoument is in the reconciliation of the human and the rat, treating criticism as an inferior species of culture deserves a little more inspection.

There’s a really nifty short film in the extras on the Ratatouille DVD called Your Friend The Rat which explains that the spread of the rat was parallel with then spread of humans. The two species thrive in the same habitats. The omnivorous rat flourishes on a human diet. In other words, we wouldn’t hate rats nearly so much if they weren’t so bloody similar to us. And maybe critics are the same, scooping up the crumbs and dirt of the “average piece of trash” and turning it into something good.

Criticism isn’t just what Ratatouille pretends it is – a hanger-on of the arts. It’s a craft of its own and it can be done well or poorly, but for most average pieces of trash, a good going-over by a strong critic in a fine fury is the best available fate. A railing Victorian bigot like Dr Cumming would have made nothing of any value at all, if he hadn’t given George Eliot ocassion to slam his sermons for their “smattering of science and learning.” “platitudes,” “bigoted narrowness” and “unctuous egoism.” The most interesting part of Big Brother every year is Charlie Brooker dismantling the show’s mechanics in Screen Burn. And, while a self-indulgent kicking is unwelcome, it’s not any more despicable than the sort of writing that piles mewling approval on top of success and pretends that championing the biggest and the boringest is a work of passion.

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Birdy num num

Inspired by Felix’s anti-VD, I shamefacedly present what might be the world’s only successful abstinence-only sex ed campaign. This is my non-winning  entry to a bad sex writing competition – after the jump, because you really shouldn’t look unless you’re an adult who consents to being made to feel a bit sick.

feeding-bird

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Blackout

My header’s temporarily gone: here’s why.

God is a number

snv80130In the last post, I mentioned the problem of putting a value on unquantifiable things. But obviously, people do find ways to value the unquantifiable: every time I write a theatre review, I have to boil down the experience to a number of stars at the end. And like Leon, I know that the number probably has more meaning to the reader that the 250 preceding words that I’ve delicately prodded into shape. (People really, really love numbers.)

Personally, I don’t find that hugely painful. Skipping down the scale from 5 (amazing), via 4 (enjoyable), 3 (pleasant) and 2 (boring) to miserable 1 (agonising), most things can be comfortably shoved into one of the categories. But these reviews are pretty low stakes: I’ve never had to face down an angry PR or deal with being blacklisted from an arts centre. Some industries take numbers very seriously indeed, and there’s an article in the current Edge (available online here) on Metacritic, the site which collates review scores, weights them by publication and averages them out into a meta-score.

For developers, this creates what must sometimes be excrutiating pressure: not only are there people boiling down your hard work to an inflexible figure, there’s also some bastard sampling all these figures and presenting a final count of your creation’s merit. Ouch. And the industry is racing to work out how to use these numbers, tying royalties to Metacritic scores, calculating the relationship between sales and average reviews. Marc Doyle, Metacritic founder and editor, explains to Edge:

“‬I know that certain publishers have done very comprehensive studies and they’ve been able to highlight certain types of games and certain types of genres for which predictability will be much higher‭ – ‬racing,‭ ‬sports and certain types of action games,‭ ‬certain types of franchises.‭ ‬Others you just don’t know,‭ ‬like why did the Ben‭ ‬10‭ ‬game sell through the roof‭? ‬I don’t know.‭ ‬It’s not so predictable,‭ ‬it’s not scientific or perfect.‭”

Although, if humungous kiddie-bait franchise Ben 10 is the best example of ‘inexplicable’ success you can come up with, that suggests that the Metacritic system might not be so flawed. The numbers actually tell quite a lot, and possibly more than the original reviewers would like them to:

… for every five points above‭ ‬80,‭ ‬on average,‭ ‬sales double.‭ ‬But [...] many games buck this trend,‭ ‬and [...] the largest‭ ‬publishers have found that the greatest sales‭ ‬growth tends to occur in games scoring in the region of‭ ‬70‭ ‬compared to those scoring‭ ‬80‭ ‬or more.‭  [Of‭ ‬18‭ ‬products achieving scores of‭ ‬90‭ ‬or more in‭ ‬2008‭ ‬and‭ ‬2007] ‬only two were projected to sell over seven million copies,‭ ‬while seven sold less than a million.‭ ‬Overall,‭ ‬12‭ ‬out of the‭ ‬18‭ ‬sold less than two million,‭ ‬a figure that marks a rough break-even point for a triple-A game.‭ ‬In other words,‭ ‬there is a correlation but quality does not assure success.

Or more brutally, there’s a noticable – not universal, but statistically interesting – point at which reviewers’ affections diverge from public interest. The Edge piece comes down fairly comfortably: in the end, sales are still king, and if Metacritic pushes more emphasis on quality, then that could be a good thing. But there’s another option in the numbers too: that publishers identify that 70-80 band as the area that makes money, and squeeze out the developers aspiring to 80+, so choking innovation out of the industry. In that case, the combined voice of every reviewer would have killed off the games they love best. It would be a self-crippling, short-termist strategy for the industry to adopt. But in a time of financial uncertainty, it might be a tempting one.

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Paperhouse reads: Freakonomics

freakonomics

There’s loads of surprising stuff contained in Freakonomics, Steven D Levitt and Stephen J Dubner’s romp through the application of economic principles to sociological data.  The thesis that legalised abortion leads directly to lowered crime rates – that’s pretty shocking, even if you’re someone (like me) who thinks that abortion should be legal and that one of the strongest arguments for its legality is the unhappy circumstance of unwanted children. Or the analysis of cheating by sumo, which cleverly presses the data from sumo wrestlers’ championship bouts to discover the circumstances under which a wrestler seems to be willing to hand the win to his opponent. The data are structured to account for variables, interrogated for controls, analysed – and the outcomes are often revelatory, not so much for the conclusions, but for the implicit argument that something as seemingly ineffable as human behaviour can be measured in this way.

There’s an argument, pushed by Meghan Falvey for n+1 magazine, that the book is too tightly focussed on a cost-benefit analysis and incapable of accommodating outcomes which fall outside of the financial, but I don’t think that’s a fair representation of Levitt and Dubner’s work. As a commentary on their method, it’s roughly acceptable: analysis requires that an approximate value can be set on the input and output of a transaction, and some things (money, lifespan, crime per capita) are easier to quantify than others (happiness, love, the dappling of sunshine on treetops). But Falvey’s ethical objection – that Freakonomics espouses a narrow view of human behaviour as reward-driven and rational, and so falls into the service of stakeholder-society welfare restriction – seems simply wrong.

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New favourite song: Vic

How did you spend your precious teenage years? I spent mine staying up too late in my bedroom, listening to the radio to hear songs of failure and frustration by older men. Yeah, I know. The Mark Radcliffe Graveyard Shift was my lodestone and I would listen with my finger twitching over the record button of my bedside radio/cassette player so I could capture the songs that would never, never come to my one local record shop. I know it sounds appalling but there wasn’t any internet.

One day, Radcliffe and Riley were away and Mark Lamarr was hosting when Animals That Swim came in to play a session. Singer Hank Starr was barefoot and, after loads of teasing from Lamarr about how he should wrap his feet in newspaper like a tramp, I drew some socks and faxed them in. (Faxed! There wasn’t any internet.)

Animals That Swim were principally wistful. Their songs were often condensed narratives: East St O’Neill tells an unsettling story about stealing floral tributes which shifts nervily from first to third person just before the middle eight, Pink Carnations is about recovering from a car crash in hospital and hints at sub-narratives for all the other patients on the ward. And Vic is about remembering going to see Vic Chesnutt play a London pub and shouting out a drunken request that gets a wry putdown from Chesnutt. The guitar shuffles and pauses in sympathy with the lyrics’ embarrassment; it’s all over in less than two minutes and gives the laugh at the end to Chesnutt.

Listen to Vic

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Reflected glory

dsc00638

Issue 29 of Official PlayStation Magazine came out this week, and this here spread is my contribution to it. Well, the words are. It’s the outcome of an interview with Tom of the brilliant, brilliant Mind Hacks blog who patiently talked me through what proprioception is and why Mirror’s Edge is so good at making you feel sick when you play it. It’s the piece of paid work that I’m most proud of so far, and it comes in a magazine that’s all round pretty beautifully put together. (Nepotism detectives: check the flannel panel.)

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