...because, no, I don't have anything better to do...
As you probably don't know, one of my favorite things to do is writing long-winded comments on facebook in the form of fan-fictional blurbs. Since my camera is currently broken and I'm unable to upload new content from the real world, here's something from my archives.
The Sith agent was close. Too close. James knew that if he failed to act now, the advantage gained by splashing water on the Sith's new black robe would be lost. He backed towards the wall, looked carefully around the corner, and listened.
"Damn! My new black robe!" his adversary shouted, trying in vain to wring the tepid water from his new black robe.
Checking his cornsaber's power gauge, he found it nearly drained. The fight with the mecha-tiger must have been more intense than he, or the mecha-tiger, remembered. Nevertheless, he made his move.
Unsheathing his cornsaber from its dried husk, he leaped into the corridor, taking the Sith by surprise. Dodging several blaster bolts and deflecting as many more with the cortosis-infused kernels of his weapon, he made his way slowly towards his foe.
Seconds later, the duel was ended. The Sith agent was sprawled on the floor, the lightly seasoned cornsaber protruding from his chest.
James, panting, said to the dying Sith, "I think you'll agree that it was EAR-responsible to take me on. And I hope the maintenance droids are hungry for CORPSE-on-the-cob," he turned. Walked away.
Rather than stick with my original plan of reviewing The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassas (If you want my quick review: it's boring, lifeless, underacted. Watch Brazil, instead), I've decided to review something, quite a bit shorter than a feature-length film.
So, here it is, my review of the holiday advertisement for Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. No, they're not paying me. I wish they would.
The Premise
This commercial is a character study of two brothers who are faced with a dilemma. Tensions flare and wits are matched when a certain object, the last Pillsbury Crescent roll, is contested. How will the character's resolve this situation? through violence? an appeal to reason or emotion? You'll have to watch to find out.
The Plot
The spot opens clearly with white text on a black title card which defines our setting: "The Lange's Holiday Dinner." We see six or seven people seated at a well stocked dining room table. This is an extended familial affair, given that our first actor (we'll call him, Brother #1) refers tohis Uncle Ed. Because of this, we are informed that this is no ordinary dinner; the inclusion of the extended family gives this celebration a bit more weight, and will add to the dramatic tension later in the commercial. In addition, Pillsbury made the right choice in referring to a non-specific "Holiday," rather than, say, Christmas. The decorations in the house are perfectly non-denominational, and therefore, completely inclusive to any event considered to be a holiday. Kudos, Pillsbury.
We get to the real, dramatic meat of this piece when Brother #1 asks Uncle Ed to pass the crescent rolls. Upon closer inspection, Brother #2 remarks that the crescent roll--which is nicely and clearly framed in the introductory shot--is "the last one.'' This is the inciting incident of the plot, and introduces the conflict of the piece. What fate is in store for this, the last, crescent roll? The foundation of the conflict is perfectly built, since we, the audience, know that the tension must be resolved in less than twenty seconds.
The clock is ticking.
Let's talk quickly about the characterization of the two brothers. Due to the short length of the film, they must be characterized quickly, but Pillsbury does a good job of this, using clever shortcuts that tell us all we need to know about the two characters. The most obvious piece of characterization is the contrast between the siblings. Brother #1 has disheveled hair and is wearing an unbuttoned shirt, whereas Brother #2 is well groomed and wearing the ultimate in film posh attire: the sweater vest. Yet, despite their differences, the family resemblance is clear. The two brothers are sitting together, which suggests a fairly close bond, and their dialogue hints at a jokingly-adversarial relationship that is very common in film brothers, especially twins.
The relationship between the two brothers is further highlighted in their dialogue and body language as they attempt to resolve the situation. The first solution to the "there is only one crescent roll" situation is suggested by Brother #1, who suggests that the two characters, "split it." Initially agreed upon by Brother #2, the arrangement is called into question when Brother #1, in a show of either a.) backhanded dealing or b.) a lack of spatial awareness, arranges for the roll to be split in an uneven and unfair manner.
While the brothers continue to bicker about the method by which they will split the roll, we are taken to the commercial's second act. Until now, we are only assuming that the crescent roll is an object worth valuing. We are given subtle clues, such as the rarity of the roll (given how large the serving basket was in the first scene, we can assume that this crescent was the last of many), and the eagerness of the two brothers to argue over it, which suggest the value of the roll, but the first scene of the second act resolves any question.
The scene is presented as perhaps a flashback to the creation of the rolls (we will soon see that this is not a flashback at all), however, the fact that the dinner table conversation continues in the background suggests that it may take place within the narrative, and preserves continuity with the previous discussion. We are told quite explicitly by the film makers about the "buttery" and "flaky" roll in question. We are, by this point, completely invested in the conflict, and deeply involved in the future of the last crescent roll.
Let's rejoin the brothers. Act Three. The discussion has continued, by this time it has evolved into an exact analysis of the proportions into which the roll should be split. But then, the big reveal.
Their mother walks in from the kitchen, holding a big basket of Deus ex Machina brand crescent rolls. This reveals that the "flashback" to the crescent's baking was, in fact, another round of rolls being prepared.
The commercial's artistic appeal could have ended here. The conflict could have been resolved by lazy writing and a tacked-on, happy ending. But I'm pleased to tell you, dear readers, that it wasn't.
Rather than cheaply end the conflict with a basket of lazy writing, the brothers press on, going so far as to dismiss their mother's new rolls. Brother #1 offers finally to get a ruler and measure the roll, to ensure fairness (at least his conception of it. It is left unclear as to whether he would be true to his word). They share a glance of brotherly love, and the commercial ends, save for a voice-over.
The Verdict
Considering that the narrative of this commercial had to be introduced and resolved within the space of 30 seconds, it's remarkable the efficiency and efficacy of the advertisement. Product placement featured heavily in the story, as one might expect, but it didn't intrude on the film's true message.
This commercial is not about biscuits, it about people. These two characters don't care about the crescent roll, delicious as it is, they care about each other. The entire ad has been crafting a love triangle between the two brothers and the roll, one that is carefully resolved when the characters choose to live by brotherly love, and to not be distracted and dismayed by lust or hunger. It's really a beautiful and efficient piece of film, especially considering the running time.
No, Fundamentalist Christian Caricature whom I invented for the sake of this Christmas related blog post, it's not that. Well, maybe it's a little bit that. The character of Jesus Christ is probably just an amalgam of early religious figures sprinkled with a few mythological characters. But I can't really fault him for having a holiday; he's pretty popular. Although it is a bit suspicious that Christians appropriated non-denominational winter solstice celebrations for their messiah's birthday. Furthermore, his birthday, according to many scholarly accounts, probably wasn't even in December, if he had a birthday at all. He's probably not real, is what I'm saying.
What's that? I couldn't hear you over the Hellfires. So it must be Santa. Look at his red suit, his jolly demeanor, his magical reindeer. Look at them.
I'm looking. But isn't the modern conception of Santa Claus just another amalgamation of folklore, myth, and (mostly) product placement? What does Santa have to do with Jesus anyway?
Jesus got presents. Santa gives presents. Boom.
Boom?
Boom.
But modern Christmas has become so entrenched in the idea of obligatory shopping and gift-giving, often with a direct correspondence between the price and quality of a gift (or so we're led to believe...BY CORPORATE AMERICA!), that Christmas, henceforth shortened to Xmas, is becoming more about presents and consumption than it ever was about any religious or spiritual source material. Besides, Jesus was the guy who preached simplicity and non-consumption, how does this mesh?
You're doing it wrong, then. It's about going to Church with your family, and hearing about Jesus. Sometimes you get to watch your kids act in the Nativity play.
...and what do you do the morning after church?
We open presents, dummy.
Would your Christmas celebration be any different without presents? Besides the lack of presents? It shouldn't be too different, but...I wouldn't need to shop, spend hundreds of dollars on presents, get up in the middle of the night to pretend that a man benevolently broke into our house, or put on the itchy beard and suit.
See? That sounds way better. You still get to spend quality time with your family, have a nice meal, watch an Xmas special on TV, and you get to sleep in on the 25th.
But what about the presents? The joy in a family member's face when they open their new eBible...it's priceless.
I dunno, just give them an ipod some other time. My point is that we don't need a social convention to tell us that, once a year, 75 percent of the country needs to buy and give presents, all at the same time. It bugs me.
You are a tool of Satan. Get out of my house. fin.
"Now, now. You must be careful with it. Don't touch it with your fingers, lest they risk dissolution--it belonged to Cyril Albusson, you know--no, no, let me open the box. Carefully, carefully,"
Two men, one young, one old, one a student, the other a wizard, were seated at a table in a candlelit room. A small wooden box, gilded at its edges, sat between them. The old man began to open the box, removing a brass lock and freeing the clasp. He paused.
The wizard spoke again, "the Philosopher's Stone is an object of great importance to us. Of course, it is onlyone of many such stones--it's made of pure arcanum, simply by luck, we can't purify it like this, no matter how hard we try," he laughed gently, as if sharing a joke, long forgotten, "now then, I think it's time for you to learn its power."
"Master," the student protested, "but we haven't even begun the lessons. I'm not yet skilled in chemistry, let alone alchemy, might this be dangerous?"
"Perhaps you are right, my boy, but in this case we cannot afford to wait. I have much to teach you, and not much time before I am too frail to do so. You've seen lesser objects of arcanum and the magic they contain. What I'm here--why we're here--er, I'm here to show you that those objects are mere toys compared to a genuine Philosopher's Stone."
The young man was nervous. Filled with anxious energy, his fingers danced along the tabletop and his eyes darted about the otherwise empty room. But his true attention never wavered. The box had a power, a presence, and the sooner he could get away from the stone, the better. Magic items have a way of twisting stomachs into knots.
The wizard noticed the student's reluctance. He paused for a moment, and motioned for the young man to open the box himself.
Hands shaking, the clasp was flipped, and slowly, slowly, the box's lid was lifted open.
In a flash of light and smoke, several enormous snakes leapt from the open box, attacking the student.
He stumbled back, grasping this hilt of his sword, "Wh-what manner of magic is this?" he shouted. He had sword in hand before noticing that the Wizard had fallen the floor. The old man rolled about on his back. Laughing.
Looking down, the student found that the "snakes" were no more than novelties, constructed from paper and propelled by springs, which had been carefully placed in the box to frighten any who opened it.
Red-faced with embarrassment, the student asked, "Was that--some sort of lesson? Master, speak to me, please."
The wizard howled with laughter, "It's been 250 years since I've been able to trick someone with that routine! Old Cyril's going to owe me potions for a month!"
Years later, long after the boy had become a necromancer, he still remembered the day he'd first killed a wizard.
Author's Note: That's right, I've ruined another perfectly serious story with a punch line at the end. That seems to be my style lately. Oh well. If you don't like the ending, you self-edit out the last few lines and end the story with a cliffhanger! How's the plucky student of wizardry going to get out of this one?
...it might be the sangria, but this movie is fucking beautiful.
Did I say beautiful? I meant emotionally magnificent. I will warn that there a few spoilers coming up. But you should watch this film, regardless of what I say below (it's available on Netflix Instant, so there's really no excuse). This is a Chinese Kung Fu film starring Donnie Yen (who is really great, by the way). I'm not even done watching it and yet, I feel compelled to review it, it's that great.
Okay, I'm back. The film is done. Emotionally Magnificent. And before I go on, though, I'd like to point out that there's nothing really new about this film. It involves tropes and archetypes that we've all seen before (the underdog winning against a powerful foe, the peaceful man who turns to violence, but only to save his family/people, etc.). But it does these archetypes so damn well. That's the point. Anyway, on to the review.
The Premise
The movie is about the life of Kung Fu (specifically Wing Chun) Master Ip Man (based on the real guy! Also, it's pronounced "EEP mahn"). He's a peaceful guy, only fighting as a hobby, and even when challenged for realsies by a rival martial artist, he only fights nonviolently. That is...
Until the Japanese army invades China, which wrecks his shit. His family (wife and son) is thrown into poverty by the oppressive Japanese presence and he is thrust into righteous violence by the death of one of his kung fu colleagues. You see, there's this Japanese general who is entertained my the Chinese martial arts. He stages fights between his men and desperate Chinese fighters, paying out bags of rice if the Chinese fighters win. Ip Man's friend, another Kung Fu master, is killed unfairly by a Japanese officer after losing a bout, and this event sets off the chain of events that culminates with Ip Man fighting (and destroying) the Japanese general in a fight for supremacy. It's basically the old premise of, "rogue comes in saying, 'My kung fu is stronger!' and is put in his place by hero master," but with more magnificence.
Highlights
This movie is full of really great moments. The first that I'll mention had me speechless.
As I alluded to earlier, a fellow Kung Fu master, and a friend, is gunned down after his bout with the Japanese soldiers. This unjust and unjustified way for a master, and a friend, to die sets Ip Man off. He immediately puts himself into the ring to challenge the Japanese, and to redeem the death of his respected colleague. This is a beautiful fight scene, packed with emotion and great cinematography which illustrates a simple point. Ip Man is done playing around. This fight is for keeps.
As I've said before, Master Ip is a peaceful guy. When an aggressor challenges him early in the film, to the point of pulling a sword in an unarmed fight, Ip responds by besting him, simply, with a FEATHER DUSTER. It was an important early scene which defines his character.
In this scene, however, he's furious about the unjust death of his friend. He challenges TEN of the Japanese fighters, at the same time, and proceeds to tear them apart. It's a striking contrast to his earlier fighting style. When before he pulled punches, never fighting beyond the level of friendly sparring, in this fight, he rains blow after blow on every one of the fighters, going so far as to break (or at the very least dislocate) a fighter's leg in one massive kick. Throughout the fight, his inner agony is written on his face, his break of character speaking to the depths to which he was saddened and outraged by the loss of a great master. Emotionally Magnificent.
In another scene, after falling from his former glory into poverty, he's found a job working in some kind of textile factory. He's finally realized the true danger of the occupying Japanese, he finally agrees to teach his eager fellow workers martial arts. I've got to warn you, there's a training montage coming up. But god damn is it pretty. Again, it might have been the Sangria coursing through my veins, but the idea of the common man training to fight against an unjust oppressor...whoo! It gets me going. Later, the factory workers team up and use their newly acquired skills against a group of bandits (who are coming to steal, wool? Looms? Doesn't matter). It's a really nice scene, even though the workers are clearly outmatched. I guess I'm just a sucker for concrete, well defined morality in films like this.
The Fights
This is a Kung Fu film, after all, and so the question remains: how are the fight scenes?
They're great.
There's a good mix of martial arts here, with a minimum of wire work and slow motion. The fight scenes are visceral, powerful, and emotional. Like any good kung fu movie, they express more than just simple fighting. They're cleanly shot and entertaining. There's really no more that I can say.
Donnie Yen is really talented. There. I said something more.
Emotionally Fucking Magnificent. Now, if you'll excuse me, the rest of this Sangria won't drink itself.
To tell this story properly, I'll have to start from the beginning.
Almost a year ago, while we (my girlfriend and I) were living in a different apartment, we were occasionally visited by a strange, skittish, blotchy brown and white cat. Obviously starved for attention, she would mew at our window until we came out to give her a petting. And as it often does, petting lead to feeding, feeding lead to constructing a tiny kitty bed out of cardboard and t-shirts (that she never used, by the way), and that lead to us eventually bringing her inside. It was getting further and further into winter, and the temperatures were dropping quickly. We couldn't stand letting such a sweet kitty exist, homeless, on the dangerous streets.
Did I mention that she was a sweet, loving kitty? Good, that'll become important later.
It's important now. She was loving for about a day and a half. It was a ruse. We were duped into adopting this cat, who turns out to be hateful, misanthropic, and, at the best of times, indifferent to our affections.
She's laying on my books right now, watching me type this. If I go missing after writing this post, you know where to look for the killer.
I'm watching...everything.
We quickly noticed some of her stranger habits. She'll stretch her claws out on our favorite chair, digging them deeper and deeper into the fabric, tearing into it with glee and abandon. While she does this terrifying show of violence, she stares at you. It's a way of saying, "someday, when I catch you without the squirt bottle, this will be your leg."
Sharpening her claws is another favorite past time. This act is something that startled me to the core, at least the first time she did it, but apparently it's a common thing. She sharpens her claws with her own teeth. You could even ask, which instrument of death is being sharpened? It could very well be that she's honing her teeth, as well. All the better to bite you with, she'll meow.
I haven't even touched on how she petulantly knocks over her food and water bowls, or how she carefully times her trips to the litter box to exactly coincide with the beginning of our meals.
A cat post and a Dune reference? I'm on a roll!
She just yawned. It may seem innocent, but I'm convinced that it's just a subtle way for her to bare her teeth at me. Oh god. She's coming this way...
Digby's got a plan. I don't know what it is, yet, but I'm going to find out. She won't win. I can't let her win. Oh god, she's gotten into my head!
The Moral of the Story
And how can this be? For she is the Kitty Haderach!
"What if I were the first person to make extraterrestrial contact?"
She was asking no one in particular. This was good, considering she was the only one in the room.
It was her favorite part of the day, the time directly after she'd started code compiling, programs processing, or simulations simulating. The blessed interval when, if anyone accused her of not working, she'd simply point to the screen's progress bar, or direct an ear to the low hum of the machine's cooling fan. It was a time when she could finally think over the usual, required din of physics and mathematics.
She stood and answered, again to no one in particular, "The First Contact...I think I'd be a very good choice. I mean, how many individuals among the human race can prove, at will, the Pythagorean theorem using simple pictographs? Ah, and how many more have practiced doing so for just such an occasion?" This made her content.
"Hmm," she mused, dramatically raising a hand to her chin, stroking the imaginary goatee of deep thought, "but how to convince our new visitors that we are a friendly race?"
She spun to deliver her retort, "How indeed, given that I, myself, have not been properly convinced that the human race is, at its heart, truly friendly! Hmph."
This new line of thought was quite intriguing. There is nothing in her conventional knowledge of the sciences which had dealt with concepts like intergalactic friendship--intergalactic? The chances that the aliens would have originated from outside of our own galaxy are far slimmer than the odds of much simpler intragalactic visitors--but regardless, maybe a philosopher would be more suited to the task. Perhaps even a xenobiologist, who could study the evolutionary psychology of a hypothetical alien ecosystem to determine which gestures or situations an alien might find agreeable.
Wait, if the visitors were hostile, we would likely be incinerated instantly by their advanced technology, and therefore, a visit itself would be evidence in favor of a peaceful civilization.
She spun in her chair. Logic wins again!
As she sat wondering about what kind of propulsion system, if any at all, would be the most practical for interstellar travel, her computer beeped angrily, beckoning her back to her original task--whatever that was.
...forever alone.
While I like the idea of posting something every day, I'm afraid I'm not interesting or creative enough to keep to a schedule like that.
I mean, I've got a few short story ideas cooking, so I might post a blurb or two once I get writing again. In the meantime, random thoughts that I can't develop into full-length posts will continue to be posted to my twitter.
For now though, you should check out this picture of a scarf I'm knitting. As you can see, I ran out of yarn about halfway through and changed to another color entirely. The first ball (the ugly green/brown/blue) was just too hideous for me to continue.
I've been learning the very manly art of knitting with the help of a book titled, Knitting With Balls: A Hands-On Guide to knitting for the MODERN MAN (emphasis original). It's going to be a great resource to go to when I need a wool beer-cozy or a utility cloth to clean my hog*.
*The word "hog", in this case, refers to a hypothetical motorcycle. Given that this is a vegan blog, no animals were harmed in the writing of this post.
...or, "Why Zangief was the best part of the film."
I don't know why I watched this film. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time, something campy to entertain while I sat knitting on the couch. However, it soon became clear that what I had unleashed was so bad that it couldn't be ignored. I needed to focus all of my attention on the movie so that I could hate with 100% of my focus.
This is Street Fighter. Released in 1994, directed by...wait, what? No...no, this can't be.
The film is directed by Steven E. de Souza, the genius screenwriter behind such classics as, 48 Hours, Commando, Die Hard, Die Hard 2, Hudson Hawk, and (I think his best work) the TV movie Gotta Catch Santa Claus. Now, these might not be the highest caliber of film titles, these might not even be the best he's made, but they're all classics in my book. Every single one of these movies is damn entertaining, and entertaining goes a long way.
But wait, I guess I can let him off the hook. He's a screenwriter, after all, not necessarily a director. That brings up my next point: the writing in this movie is painfully bad. Let's see who wrote it...Oh shit, it was him.
Let me give you some of my favorite quotes from the movie:
Colonel William F. Guile: It's the Collection Agency, Bison. Your ass is six months over due, and it's mine.
Chun Li: Colonel Guile! How about that interview... for my network? Colonel William F. Guile: Sure... but only if you wear that dress!
Victor Sagat: Vega is the greatest cage fighter since Iron Fist. Ken: What happened to him? Victor Sagat: He retired... and became me.
Okay, okay, enough of that. The movie can't go for more that five minutes without trying to spout a catchy 90s one-liner (de Souza basically invented the one-liner, have you even seen commando?!). The best part of the movie isn't the acting, or the action, it's watching Jean Claude Van Damme (hereafter referred to as JCVD to save space) try to be the American action star with a muddy Belgian French accent that's barely a notch above Tommy Wisseau's in terms of diction.
But let's not focus on the specifics of JCVD's acting chops. After all, he's not here to act, he's here to scissor kick some chumps. The action sequences are purely 90s, with too many explosions, too many quick cuts, and waaaaay too much cheese. In the final fight sequence especially, between Raul Julia's M. Bison and JCVD as Guile, barely a second goes by between cuts, and on top of that, several bits of footage were used multiple times to pad out the fight. The rest of the sequences are filled with one-hit KO minions, guns that might as well fire blanks (since no one ever gets hit), and poorly choreographed and even more poorly executed martial arts.
And one other thing: what's with all of the skinny actors playing street fighters? Street fighter is full of strangely proportionate fighters (have you seen Chun Li's thighs? Yeesh.) but the least they could have done in their over-the-top action movie is get some fighters with a bit of bulk. When Ken and Ryu are first introduced, I expected these twiglets of men to get snapped in half. Sure, maybe they're decent fighters, but I just can't take them seriously in a movie like this. At no point is this movie trying to be realistic, so why should we settle for realistic (read: wimpy (for action movie standards)) physiques on the fighters. And don't even get me started on Blanka. He's supposed to be a fucking beast, not a skinny cro-magnon in green body paint!
I believe I've proved my point.
But before I stray too dangerously far into righteous anger review mode, let's talk about the positive, the highlight of the film. There is only one highlight. Zangief.
Now this guy looks the part.
Not only is the character played in a very interesting way, he's the kind-hearted goon that's been tricked into fighting for the wrong side, but he's also got the two best lines in the movie.
The first, when a truck is barreling at the...I guess it's some kind of tent, I wasn't paying attention...the tent in which M. Bison and Gang are being evil. The goons are watching the truck drive towards them on a CCTV monitor. Seeing the immediate solution to the problem, Zangief shouts, "Quick, change the channel!"
C'mon, that's funny. You might've had to be there. The second line comes later, in a dialogue with Dee Jay, reproduced below. Zangief: DEE JAY! Why you arent in your uniform? The enemies of peace and freedom are at our halls! Dee Jay: Are you totally demented mon? Our boss is the enemy of freedom and peace these people have come all over the world to stop him. If you are smart you save your own ass! Zangief: Wait! Bison is a bad guy! If you know vhy make use of him Dee Jay: Because he paid me a freakin' fortune you moron!
[runs off] Zangief: [stupidly] You got paid?
He's just so adorable in this bit, realizing that the man that he'd idolized had betrayed him. He plays it like a puppy who had been suddenly refused a treat. Not sad, exactly, just...disappointed.
And that's my quick review of Street Fighter. It's been reviewed to death, so nothing I've said has been original, but it's good to get these things out.
Stay tuned for more ramblings, I'll be back in a bit. Cheers.
...plus a sketch of a spaceman. What an interesting post!
Here's a new one of my cat, Digby, growling at me (as she often does).
This is a sketch of an idea I've been working on for a while. The phrase, "The Spaceman Has the Answers," is so evocative to me that I couldn't help but make a piece out of it. I'm pretty heavily influenced here by The Day the Earth Stood Still, a fantastic movie from the 50s. Anyway, we'll see if anything comes of it.
...or, other places you can find things done by me and posted on the internet.
Life can get confusing. Sometimes you misplace your roots, wandering alone for so long you may forget where you're meant to be. Here's where I've been:
Twitter (tiny nonsensical musings):
http://twitter.com/beatnik307
Ficly (slightly longer musings which range from nonsensical to approachingly prosaic):
http://ficly.com/authors/existentialbeatnik
DeviantArt (tiny images of my nonsensical art):
http://beatnik307.deviantart.com/
In the future I'll be consolidating all of these outlets in one completely nonsensical place. Here.
The Sith agent was close. Too close. James knew that if he failed to act now, the advantage gained by splashing water on the Sith's new black robe would be lost. He backed towards the wall, looked carefully around the corner, and listened.
