The Forge Archives

One question from Sorcerer that I love is, "Do you consider this to be a good idea for a movie?  Because if you wouldn't spend $7.50 to see a story about this, why should you bother playing it?"

Like many other men, I spend $7.50 to see entirely or mostly undeterrable heroes.  William Wallace in Braveheart and the protagonist in The Patriot were mostly undeterrable.  Someone like "The Punisher" (soon to be a major motion picture) is entirely undeterrable, or tries to be.  He doesn't become a hero until everyone he cases about is dead.  (I'm not going to spend money to see the new Punisher movie.)

The best example of such a protagonist is the sniper anti-hero from "Day of the Jackal."  I won't spoil the most shocking point of the movie, but there is the classic example of a film protagonist acting like the D&D assassin character that your ten-year-old brother might play.  Whether he is motivated by professionalism, bloodlust, or some other perversity, he is *not* in it for the money.  He is willing to risk his life for the mission.

A more fantasy-oriented film is "The Shadow" (1994, featuring Alec Baldwin as you've never seen him before).  In an early scene, the anti-hero demonstrates that he can claim great emotional attachment to subordinates -- and yet put his mission objectives at a higher level of importance.  (I won't spoil the scene, which is perhaps the best in the movie.)

"The Crow" had a protagonist who was emotionally involved.  Then he became a hero of revenge when all his emotional attachments were taken away.  At that point, revenge was his only mission, and he was mostly if not entirely undeterrable.  (He had at least one non-necessary point of contact with humanity, and he had an Achilles heel.)

In a more mundane vein, the "Death Wish" series never commanded my full attention, but they appeared to make most of their money in sequels because audiences wanted to see a mostly or entirely undeterrable vigilante, bent on revenge.  (Apparently the original character in the original novel was a bit more psychologically subtle, but when the movies were made, he was re-written to appeal to a larger audience by pandering to the lowest common denominator.)

I like heroes who consciously plan ahead to prune emotional attachments out of their lives.  Doc Savage (admittedly a childish hero) specifically refuses to marry because any woman he married would be targeted by kidnappers.  I haven't seen "Luther," the recent film biography of Martin Luther, but I suspect he was undeterrable in matters of theological doctrine, although he might have had a love interest in there somewhere.  And some popular heroes have a minor capacity for friendship but are willing to sacrifice their friends' lives when necessary -- as in "Master and Commander."

With this in mind, I think it's safe to say that these "childish" or "adolescent" heroes who embody fantasies of violence are fairly popular stars of the cinema.  How many action heroes have a convincingly deep emotional bond with their love interest?  I think in most cases, the love interest, if any, is a bit of arm tinsel.  Perhaps the plot would never allow the hero to shoot through her, and perhaps she is used as a tactical football to give the incompetent bad guys a fighting chance against the competent hero -- but there are few action movies that are also convincing stories of deep emotional bonds.  ("Out of Africa," which has Meryl Streep and Robert Redford facing the perils of the Dark Continent, might come close, but it's not primarily an action movie.)

In this context, then, I've got to take issue with the following:

Quote from: Ron Edwards

What won't work is the adolescent pseudo-character that you don't see as a primary protagonist in movies, novels, short stories, and plays: the "I'm sooo bad and sooo cold, no one messes with me" fantasy of black-clad lethality. These characters are observed only as cautionary characters, the kind which demonstrate where the protagonist will end up if he doesn't behave differently. Johnny Ringo is an excellent example.

It is a classic developmental process for a young author: making up slit-eyed assassins who care for no one, kill anyone, sneer at everyone, and punish those who dis them. It is, as I say, an adolescent fantasy (and not in the literary sense of the term), and people grow out of it - if they don't, the stories have no interest for anyone besides the author.

Maybe experienced role-players hate it when a lame role-player plays another badass.  But maybe a lot of them are equally adolescent and they *like* adolescent fantasies of revenge.  I suspect that a lot of movie audiences who buy tickets to violent movies with undeterrable protagonists are well past their adolescent years -- chronologically if not psychologically.

Maybe violent stories of undeterrable killers are by nature lousy.  But the public consumes such stories quite frequently.  If anything, I think the action-movie-viewing public would usually prefer the adolescent fantasy of black-clad lethality to an action hero who subtly transgressed his inner moral boundaries with sex, drugs, and ritual demon-summoning.

There is an important archetype at work here:  Sir Galahad the Chaste Knight.  I think that the public vastly prefers Sir Galahad the Asexual Avenger to Faust the Emotionally Vulnerable Transgressor.  In modern times, the chastity of Sir Galahad is often by default:  either he has lost his wife, or something of the like.  (The Crow, Gladiator, the list is long...)(There are many action movie heroes who make no pretense at chastity but instead flaunt their sexual prowess in a highly adolescent fashion.)  

Perhaps so many authors do not grow out of adolescent fantasies because so many audiences pay for them.  But the problem might be that a few developmentally retarded authors have warped the malleable public and led them into a vicious cycle of bad art.

Perhaps this simply means that the public has adolescent tastes in literature and that all black-clad badasses are a disease of our decadent artistic milieu.  Perhaps I am simply misreading Ron Edwards' comments and taking them in a context for which they were not meant.

Hi Red,

What you're missing is embedded in the very stories you're referencing. In every case, there comes a time partway through the story in which the protagonist has the chance to give up. He even can give up with a certain partial advantage, and gain safety.

My favorite example is John McClane, the hero of Die Hard. There he is, halfway through the movie, with bleeding feet and no apparent way to achieve the one thing he wants most, to re-connect with his estranged wife. And he has the chance to leave the building. Yup, just leave.

Guess what? He doesn't. And guess what II? Your typical "I care nothing, I'm a bad-ass" player-character would leave, right then. What does he care for Holly? What does he care for marriage? He cares for nothing, just don't tug on his cape or dare to look him in the eyes, punk.

That's the difference right there. The undeterrable protagonist is only interesting when we see that he has the chance to do otherwise, and hey, maybe we in that situation might take that chance. That's why John McClane is a great character in a great story, and Casey (Stephen Seagall's character) in Under Siege is a boring hunk of nothing in a piece of crap.

Does that make any sense?

Best,
Ron

Hi,

I'll piggy back onto Ron's comment because there's sometimes confusion about this:

Just because, say, Maximus doesn't give up at crucial moments, doesn't mean he couldn't.  The magic of a "fixed" story of a movie is that we sense the currents and options within the character even as he or she makes the choice that drives the tale forward in a satsifying way.  He's a bad ass because he had an emotionally charged choice and still stuck it out.  But this can't seem/feel/appear like a given.  Think of Harison Ford's Dr. Kimble at the damn when he could surrender, but jumps... and so on.  Looking backward we can see "of course, he wouldn't give up."  But in the moment, we must sense the options pulling at the protagonist, even as he feels the options pulling at him.  In the moment the option must feel live.

Second...

Right now, playing at your local theater, is an amazing example of these two contradictory types of protagonists existing together in the same movie!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer you "Man on Fire."   Go see it.  Even if you never meant to see it, go see it.  If you're a regular on this board and have an interest in Nar play, go see it.

In the first half, we get this amazing story of a burnt out man slowly being transformed by love.  It's gentle, with lots of growing dread.  (The relationship between Washington and Christopher Walkens character is the sweetest relationship I've ever seen between two tough guys in the movies.  Really.  It's subtle, gentle.)

Washington's character is making choices left and right, resisting sometimes, plunging other times.  It's great.

And then...

And then.... The movie simpy derails.  I won't go into all the structural issues.  But I tell you this: Not since Clint Eastwood found the "hand out prop" under the bare matress in "Line of Fire" leading to his next "encounter" have I watched a movie that smelled more of a bad RPG session than the second half of "Man on Fire."  And it goes on FOR AN HOUR!

He gets a clue.  He goes to the next guy.  He makes some intimidation rolls.  He gets the next name.  He goes to the next guy.  He makes some intimidation rolls.  He uses some combat skills.  He gets the next name...

For and HOUR!

And here's the thing, Redwalker, and all, they cut his emotional connection off at the legs.  I mean, the man simply becomes "a professional."  We've already established his resume.  And then we watch him use his skills for an hour.  All the tension, choices, uncertainy, options are over.  He's a skill set on a mission, and clearly nothing is going to disuade him -- not himself, and no one else.

It didn't have to be like this.  A man who never wanted to be a monster again, who has to be a monster to avenge the girl who showed him love is premise rich.  They simply... um... forgot about the first half of the script.

It was really weird.

I really, really, really was thinking all about the Forge and Nar play watching this movie.  Really, go check it out.  In one sitting you'll get to see an Active Premise and play without Premise in one shot.  The distinction will be very clear.

Christopher

I was looking at some of the character's Redwalker lists: The Shadow, The Crow, and Doc Strange.  These three all choose an ideal of justice or balance over their own humanity.  (Sorcerer defnition of humanty here might be personal connection with individuals).  

These three isolate themselves in order to be more effective fighting the big fight, yet, we could find many examples where it's an individual personal connection that gets them involved in a crusade, or keeps them from leaving a crusade.  It might be as simple as child met on the street, but that's enough to draw them in to risking their lives.

I think the dramatic interest in these characters is the stark contrast between their aesthetic avoidance of personal connection and the moments they open up.  This is the "big softie" principle.

Maximus is like this in Gladiator.  Near the end he becomes cynical and bitter, but seeing Lucilla and her son inspire him to finish his opposition to Commodus.

Now, about the Jackal - I would disagree that he is a protagonist.  I think it shows better in the original movie: the Jackal is the antagonist; the detective trying to catch him is the protagonist.  The movie plays the trick of focusing it's attention on the antagonist.  At least in the orignal (I haven't seen the remake), the audience's primary interest is in seeing somebody stop him.

Wow...I so wanted to bring up "Man on Fire" in this thread but couldn't quite figure out how to make it on-topic.  Of course, now that it's been introduced...

I actually had a different reaction to the movie, also driven by my recent experiences here at the Forge.  I saw a tale of Humanity, starting low, rising, rising, rising...Then dropping like a Mafia rat in cement shoes.  I saw the end as fulfilment of the "Die at the end of the session if you drop to 0 Humanity" option.

On a less game-y side, at several points during the second half of the movie, member of the audience cheered.  They CHEERED for the horrible torture and mutilation of a human being (granted, a wretched human in a movie, but still).  I was overcome by the depths Creasy was plumbing.  

You say they cut off his emotional attachments at the knees, I think they became even stronger.  If he had no attachment, he would have left.  Consider the way he handles the girl's father and his conversations with the mother.

Also consider that a normal Hollywood action movie would have started 45 minutes into Man on Fire and would have had a happy ending.  We also wouldn't be talking about it now and wouldn't remember it in two weeks.

Hi Jaik,

Since this isn't "At the Movies," we'll just have to move very carefully here and keep it on track talking about active Premise.  

Let me offer that what's at stake is not "emotional attachment" for Premise, but choice.  My point is that while I can assume Creasy is doing what he's doing because of his attachment to the little girl, there wasn't a single moment for 45 to 60 minutes where I thought -- once -- he had to make a choice, was going to make a choice, wanted to make a choice.  

Stephen Segall's character has "motivation" in Under Siege, but that doesn't make him a compelling character.  Motivation will not carry a tale.  Motivation is easy.  "She's dead.  I'll kill them."  Okay.  Now what.

I agree with you Creasy's going low -- and that would have been great if at any moment he looked like he might back off.  We could have, for example, reintroduced the threat of his drinking.  He wouldn't, of course, for fear of screwing up his abilities.  But that would mean he's have to confront what he was doing cold.  And that would cost him.  But there was no cost.  In Sorcerer terms, it was as if I was watching a zero humanity PC for an hour.  And the rules, for very good reason, spell out that once you hit zero, you're no longer a protagonist.

Creasy had no reaction to what he was doing, and thus no need, choice, option, or desire to do otherwise.

To look at it another way, in the original Terminator movies, the heroes are the humans, because they're the one's deciding how they're going to behave.  The terminator himself is just a killing machine, like the shark from Jaws.  When it was time to make Arnie likable in T2, it was the Terminator's behavior that was at stake -- would he knee-cap everybody or restrain himself, would he survive at any cost, or die for others?  The concerns of a protagonist -- how to behave -- got transferred to a machine to make him worthy of being a protagonist.  There's no way Arnie from T1 could have sustained being an interesting protagnoist in T2.  He would have been every boy's pet assassin playmate, but not a character.

In the second half of Man on Fire, I'd argue, the motivation is clear, but Creasy is a Terminator.  There's not an actual protagonist in sight.

Do you see the difference?

Christopher

Hi Red,

The key difference between the empty protagonist and the kind that is best suited to Nar play is summed up in one word:  Care.  

Consider Wolverine;  you have a man on the edge of humanity at times, loner, cynic, and classic badass.  But despite everything he says, his actions point him out as being a team player and fiercely loyal to his friends.  You'll find its the same with many of the other badass characters who are popular in fiction.

Now, to contrast to the typical rpg loner, they have no connections, no friends, and, throughout play, never develop them.  They never create a reason to ever get involved.  

While folks like Batman or the Punisher may have lost their families, you'll see an active relationship with the dead families as they a) try to bring them back/earn their love/redeem their lives or b) help out folks who remind them of their deceased family members or themselves.  Check out Gladiator as a perfect example of this sort of thing.

The difference that folks are pointing out is that many gamers see this rebellious person, and the trashtalking, but they don't see the fact that:

The loner KEEPS getting involved in everyone's business, they keep coming back to rescue people and get into trouble.

which is really the key point.

Chris

Hi,

I just cross-posted with Chris.

And while I hesitate to contradict the estimable Mr.  Bankuei... I feel I must.

Connections are vital for a protaganoist -- but only because these connections make options vital.  

"Stay for her -- or flee?"  [Die Hard]

"Become the good citizen I always claimed I was -- or become part of my father's criminal organizaion?"  [The Godfather]

"Surrender to my wounds and join my wife in the land of the dead -- or battle my way to defeat the traitor to the roman empire?"  [Gladiator]

As a guy who works a lot with screenwriters I can offer that coming up with solid emotional connections that resonate isn't easy -- but it's not the end of the road.  As Ron pointed out, it's McClane's options -- to leave, to surrender, to put his life on the line on the roof without an escape route when he realizes the hostage are all going to be killed -- that make him a character worth hanging out with for two hours.

The connections are vital, but only because they feed the choice.  Premise depends on Choice.  Engaging Characters depending on live wire choices.  Without connections, no choice.  But one can have connections, but no choice.  Hence, straight to video movies -- and "The Punisher".

Christopher

Hi Chris,

You're not contradicting me in any fashion.  We're saying the same thing :)

Chris

Oh, thank god!

Just a quick, possibly facile answer purely to the question in the thread title... yes, but generally the satisfying version of this is called Tragedy.

You know those plays where you got the guy who will not bend, will not compromise.

And the play keeps asking "What, not even when...?"

And the answer keeps coming back "Nope, no matter the cost."

And the character pays the cost, and it breaks them.

Quote from: Ron EdwardsHi Red,

What you're missing is embedded in the very stories you're referencing. In every case, there comes a time partway through the story in which the protagonist has the chance to give up. He even can give up with a certain partial advantage, and gain safety.

My favorite example is John McClane, the hero of Die Hard. There he is, halfway through the movie, with bleeding feet and no apparent way to achieve the one thing he wants most, to re-connect with his estranged wife. And he has the chance to leave the building. Yup, just leave.

Guess what? He doesn't. And guess what II? Your typical "I care nothing, I'm a bad-ass" player-character would leave, right then. What does he care for Holly? What does he care for marriage? He cares for nothing, just don't tug on his cape or dare to look him in the eyes, punk.

That's the difference right there. The undeterrable protagonist is only interesting when we see that he has the chance to do otherwise, and hey, maybe we in that situation might take that chance. That's why John McClane is a great character in a great story, and Casey (Stephen Seagall's character) in Under Siege is a boring hunk of nothing in a piece of crap.

Does that make any sense?

Best,
Ron

Well, the part about Under Siege being a piece of junk makes sense.  I agree on that one.  The hero is motivated by a little impersonal bloodlust and a lot of loyalty to the military.  

I don't think either one of us can prove whether or not undeterrable heroes have a choice of giving up or not.  Does the hero of The Crow really have control over his powers?  Could he choose to relent and have partial vengeance?  I can't prove it or disprove it, and I think if I try to argue it I'll just waste everyone's time and patience.

Instead of speculating about that, I'll ask: What about undeterrable badass characters who are positively motivated by exceptional, personal bloodlust who refuse to negotiate?  These crop up a lot in literature, and when players make characters who imitate them, referees often accuse the players of bad role-playing.

I don't think Die Hard addresses what I'm driving at.  I think undeterrable characters don't give up, but the good ones are also not motivated by mushy stuff.  The really good undeterrable characters don't care about anyone so much that they're not willing to sacrifice them to their goal.

Die Hard is a well crafted movie.  The action hero has Marital Fidelity and a Generous, Disinterested Desire To Protect A Formerly Loved One.  So he's not quite Sir Galahad, but he gets some Knight-In-Shining-Armor points, and like most folks I'm a sucker for that.  The hero is Die Hard is presumably deterrable -- if his ex-wife were used as a human shield, he would presumably he unwilling to shoot through her.  The hero in Die Hard is *not* motivated by bloodlust, but a lot of gamers are.  I know gamers who would choose to stay in the fight and ignore their ex-wife, because their gaming enjoyment is measured by the number of corpses on the floor.  So there are at least two separate varieties of badasses -- those who would risk their lives to satisfy their bloodlust and those who wouldn't.

But what about Medea?  She has a reason to get involved -- it's just hatred.  The point of Medea is to prove that she's a bloodthirsty, unstoppable badass bent on revenge.  Technically she's not the hero, but she's the most interesting character.   In game terms, she would be the player who knows the best tactics but doesn't need them because her character can beat anything in the adventure.  Medea refuses to negotiate.  

Medea, the Jackal, and Godzilla may not be heroes or even anti-heroes -- but like Stormbringer and Bloodstone, they get top billing.  One reason I started looking into Sorcerer was that Medea was cited as an important reference, and I really like that play.  Medea's ruthlessness and utter implacability remind me a lot of many of my favorite violent characters.  (I haven't read much Jirel of Joiry, but I liked what I did read.  Of course Ron has written (Sorcerer and Sword, p.43) that Jirel is a 2-dimensional, depressing, sex-sublimated violence addict.  Yes, well, so are many of my favorite characters...)

Now, you could make a character for Sorcerer that's driven by vengeance and a desire for bloodlust.  Suppose you have a kid whose father was a sorcerer.  The kid gets Lore 1, but his dad is pretty crazy.  Then the dad gets killed by a rival sorcerer and the kid barely has time to bind a demon, grab some important books, and escape.  The kid knows the rival is after his dad's books.  The kid has a choice to dump the books and run, to try to negotiate for a peace treaty with the guy who killed his dad, or to skulk in the shadows, building up power and preparing a grisly revenge.

Most "badass" characters opt for revenge, because a lot of violent stories exist to give the audience catharsis on revenge issues.  A "badass" in Ron's terms above might decide that he would negotiate with the killer because he doesn't care about his father.  A "badass" as I have seen role-played by many gamers would say, "I really hated my father, but that hatred has built up to the point where I need a whole lot of violence.  And since the father-killer is an obvious target, I'm going to try to kill him, although I might well die in the attempt."  The plan is not rational -- because hatred frequently is not rational.

I think Ron has a valid point in that ever since Clint Eastwood did The Man With No Name and various Japanese film-makers did their takes on the Wandering Warrior, there have been a lot of badly written, 2-dimensional heroes who use their wanderer credentials to avoid the need for characterization and exposition.  And if one tries to do that with a role-playing game character, there's no story, just a bunch of maneuver and combat.

The classic undeterrable hero I'm talking about is detached from social bonds and alienated from his capacity for love, so he won't form new positive bonds.  Of course, he usually has negative bonds of vengeance.

A related case of a detached, unloving, but much less intense hero is the James Bond of the books, not the movies.  In the books, James Bond got older, had psychic premonitions, used drugs, got brainwashed, and generally did a lot of things you will never, never see in the movie versions.  In the books, James Bond is singularly lacking in personal attachments, personal inhibitions -- but also he lacks bloodlust and truly intense goals.  He is an aging man, making the most of his flagging virility as he slowly runs out of steam.

Quote from: Bankuei

The key difference between the empty protagonist and the kind that is best suited to Nar play is summed up in one word:  Care.  

Consider Wolverine;  you have a man on the edge of humanity at times, loner, cynic, and classic badass.  But despite everything he says, his actions point him out as being a team player and fiercely loyal to his friends.  You'll find its the same with many of the other badass characters who are popular in fiction.

Now, to contrast to the typical rpg loner, they have no connections, no friends, and, throughout play, never develop them.  They never create a reason to ever get involved.  

While folks like Batman or the Punisher may have lost their families, you'll see an active relationship with the dead families as they a) try to bring them back/earn their love/redeem their lives or b) help out folks who remind them of their deceased family members or themselves.  Check out Gladiator as a perfect example of this sort of thing.

The difference that folks are pointing out is that many gamers see this rebellious person, and the trashtalking, but they don't see the fact that:

The loner KEEPS getting involved in everyone's business, they keep coming back to rescue people and get into trouble.

which is really the key point.

Chris

You make a really good observation -- that Narrativist theory is central to this.

This whole huge debate is perhaps best considered as a Narrativist versus Simulationist debate.  I got utterly befuddled when Ron said :

Quote from: Ron Edwards

Red, I think you might consider the difference between two things:

a) a protagonist in a story, which I know you understand because you referred to wanting an audience, even a hypothetical one, to identify with your characters as good guys

b) real actual people of whatever qualities

The two things are so different, in every possible way (existence comes to mind as a variable), that referring to (b) when talking about (a) isn't even vaguely relevant. Check out my post again: it's only about (a).

That seemed so totally contrary to my Simulationist common sense I couldn't think of how to address it.  But it makes perfect sense when one recalls that Ron is a Narrativist. No wonder this conversation seemed so difficult -- there is a big, big cultural divide between Ron and myself.  


On the one side we have Ron, a hard-core Narrativist according to the main rulebook of Sorcerer.  He cites "good" fiction versus "bad" fiction -- Die Hard versus Under Siege.

On the other side, we have myself, a rather hard-core Simulationist.  I get very wrapped up in history.  I want realistic military tactics to take precedence.  My taste in literature and entertainment is questionable -- I prefer heroes or anti-heroes who don't require that I suspend my disbelief as they pursue stupid tactics.  As a referee, I frequently reward players who act from cold-blooded strategy instead of emotional motivation.  

Thanks for providing that key word -- my previous objections were nebulous -- now you've brought it into focus.

In the future, after I've thought about this, read more of the theory forum, and considered the various replies I've gotten, I'll start a new thread in the theory section about how Simulationist gaming can influence one's taste -- both in fiction and adventure design.

Quote from: Christopher Kubasik
Connections are vital for a protaganoist -- but only because these connections make options vital.  

"Stay for her -- or flee?"  [Die Hard]

"Become the good citizen I always claimed I was -- or become part of my father's criminal organizaion?"  [The Godfather]

"Surrender to my wounds and join my wife in the land of the dead -- or battle my way to defeat the traitor to the roman empire?"  [Gladiator]

As a guy who works a lot with screenwriters I can offer that coming up with solid emotional connections that resonate isn't easy -- but it's not the end of the road.  As Ron pointed out, it's McClane's options -- to leave, to surrender, to put his life on the line on the roof without an escape route when he realizes the hostage are all going to be killed -- that make him a character worth hanging out with for two hours.

The connections are vital, but only because they feed the choice.  Premise depends on Choice.  Engaging Characters depending on live wire choices.  Without connections, no choice.  But one can have connections, but no choice.  Hence, straight to video movies -- and "The Punisher".

Christopher

Well, I totally disagree with your evaluation of both Die Hard and I think I disagree with your evaluation of Gladiator but I'm not sure.

I see Maximus as not having a tough choice.  "Gee, should I abandon my duty early and thus fall into the sin of sloth, which I have avoided my entire life, or should I do my manly duty and fight for just a little longer?"  That's such an easy choice for him that it doesn't count.  He knows he will get to the land of the dead soon enough.  The fact that he keeps fighting just reinforces that he is a man who stands by his duty.  So Maximus might look like he has a choice, but he is so virtuous that his choice is never in doubt for me.  A hardened killer who will mutilate his arm to remove a tattoo is not going to stop fighting just because he's lost enough blood to kill a lesser man -- not when a hated enemy might fall if he tries a little harder.

As for Die Hard I watched it, but I didn't like it.  I didn't think the characters were particularly sympathetic.  I felt a big ball of nothing.  It seemed to exist in order to present some flashy glitz.

By contrast, a French film called "A Bout de Souffle," has always enchanted me.  It presents an anti-hero who is totally alienated from his society, and the gangster story of the anti-hero becomes a metaphor for all modern men.  I don't love the characters, but I love the movie because I feel intense alienation from the modern world.

On a more accessible level, the Japanese gangster films of Fukasaku Kinji likewise appeal to me because I identify with the alienation, although I don't care much about the suffering and deaths of their tragic anti-heroes.  Generally speaking, their connections are poisoned and all their choices are bad.  They have little, if any hope.

Stories about dehumanized anti-heroes are very cathartic to some audiences.  I'll look again at some of my favorites and think about your comments on "connections" and "choices."

Thanks

Quote from: AlanI was looking at some of the character's Redwalker lists: The Shadow, The Crow, and Doc Strange.  These three all choose an ideal of justice or balance over their own humanity.  (Sorcerer defnition of humanty here might be personal connection with individuals).  

These three isolate themselves in order to be more effective fighting the big fight, yet, we could find many examples where it's an individual personal connection that gets them involved in a crusade, or keeps them from leaving a crusade.  It might be as simple as child met on the street, but that's enough to draw them in to risking their lives.

I think the dramatic interest in these characters is the stark contrast between their aesthetic avoidance of personal connection and the moments they open up.  This is the "big softie" principle.

Maximus is like this in Gladiator.  Near the end he becomes cynical and bitter, but seeing Lucilla and her son inspire him to finish his opposition to Commodus.

Now, about the Jackal - I would disagree that he is a protagonist.  I think it shows better in the original movie: the Jackal is the antagonist; the detective trying to catch him is the protagonist.  The movie plays the trick of focusing it's attention on the antagonist.  At least in the orignal (I haven't seen the remake), the audience's primary interest is in seeing somebody stop him.

Minor note: Doc Savage is a very different character than Doctor Strange.  I'm not very familiar with Doctor Strange.

It's possible I'm not seeing Maximus as he was meant to be seen.  It's entirely possible I want to disregard Maximus' Big Softie aspects and so I'm subconsciously editiing them out.  I have to go back and watch it again.

I think Forsyth recognizes that the audience is paying for violence and skill.  Similarly, the audience at a Godzilla film is often more interested in the sheer devastation than the hero.  I know I'm not the only one who watches horror movies and cheers for the bad guys because the good guys are just annoying.

There is a whole genre of fiction that is sometimes called "procedural," as in "police procedural," or "military procedural."  A lot of Tom Clancy is "military procedural," and a lot of modern murder stories are "police procedural."  The characters aren't very important, and there are a lot of them -- the real hero is the collective team of uniformed folks doing their jobs.  Doc Savage and his team of heroes was an early foreshadowing of the "collective hero."

Here's an interesting twist for folks who like anti-heroes:  Forsyth also wrote a book called "The Dogs of War" which is a mercenary procedural.  It has a very anti-establishment message:  mercs don't fight especially well, but they fight where, when, and against whom they choose.  

After I've read more of the forums and have a better idea of the terminology, I'll post an apologia for simulationist gaming and procedural fiction.