Sam Ricks' Writing

Paul R.—6’ 2”, 215 lbs., indie rock aficionado, proud Volkswagen Bus owner, former film student—is the last person you would expect to see on this playground. As he herds his 35 inner-city 5th-grade students to recess, one of them asks, “Mr. R., are you afraid of iguanas?”

“Ever since I told her I was afraid of dogs, she asks me if I’m afraid of all kinds of animals,” Paul chuckles. “‘Are you afraid of deer? Are you afraid of sharks? Are you afraid of ducks?’ Why does she do that?”

Paul could have done anything but felt driven to teach. “I was watching A Man For All Seasons,” he recalls, “and there’s a part where Sir Thomas More tells Rich . . . ‘You’d make a fine teacher,’ and Rich says, ‘If I was, who would know it?’, and More says, ‘You’d know it. Your students would know it. God. Not a bad public, that!’” Paul knew if he could help someone else love learning, he’d find fulfillment. “If you can make a difference,” he declares, “That’s life.”

Paul’s transition from self-proclaimed hippie/rock guru to grade school teacher hasn’t been easy. He deals with children whose parents are in the middle of divorces, on drugs, in prison, and more, but he remains upbeat. “I love seeing the light come on in [the kids'] eyes,” he says. “Even if it only flickers for a second, you can still tell that . . . you’ve helped that kid see how cool it is to learn.”

And iguanas? Paul laughs, shrugs, glances at his watch. It’s time to go back to class.

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We designers sometimes shun discussions of morality. A production-oriented profession and perceived economic necessity let questions of aesthetics and functionality supplant weightier ethical issues: Is what I create right? Is it necessary? Do I believe in it? Lack of discussion on these topics can even lead designers to deny their importance; but design is about promoting ideas, not just appearances, and wrong ideas don’t deserve good design.

For more than 95 years, the AIGA has supported innovative, exceptional graphic art through information exchange, critical analysis, and the advancement of ethical practices. Because we understand design’s potency, we invite designers everywhere to define their boundaries — to determine what they will and will not do.

Who will you work for? How will you respond to questionable but wealthy potential clients? When will you say “no”? Where will you draw the line?

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Greetings

Welcome to the premiere issue of The Noble Tyrant: News Drawn Quarterly. Receipt of this tastefully written artifact distinguishes you as one of the 21st-century’s most discerning leaders. The Noble Tyrant (TNT) targets you, an aspiring dictator. Since your country is in the midst of abominable trade sanctions and undeserved embargoes (tyrants always have these problems), we smuggled this, your first copy, into a recent edition of The New Yorker. Those UN inspection hypocrites will never suspect a thing. If you feel you have received this newsletter in error and are not, in fact, a zealous defender of the people, please stop reading –> here <– and destroy this communication immediately.†

TNT addresses despots of all persuasions. Whether you are a tight-fisted fascist or a calculating communist, the basic principles of totalitarianism are the same, and our newsletter is for you. In future editions, we’ll provide information on a variety of useful topics, including:

• Safely importing nuclear weapons
• Improving your rapport with the media through enhanced interrogation techniques
• Where to find high-grade radioactive isotopes (for assassination purposes)
• Successfully ignoring the Geneva Code
• And MUCH, MUCH MORE!

We’ll feature interviews with notable dictators, compare power rankings, discuss how to polish your image, and help you establish an enduring cult of personality. In addition, we’ll include horoscopes, dating advice, and challenging word puzzles. Truly, there’s something for everyone here. TNT helps take your regime to the next level. With that in mind, we invite you to peruse this quarter’s deftly executed articles. We’re sure you’ll agree that among newsletters, The Noble Tyrant reigns supreme. And now, to business.

Sincerely,
The Editor
Editor-In-Chief

† Please recycle. Thank you.

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Editor’s note: Robert Mugabe (1921-present) has served as Zimbabwe’s head of government since 1980. This April, he joined us for a brief interview to talk about his influences and aspirations.

TNT: Thank you, President Mugabe—
Mugabe: My friends call me Bob.
TNT: —Okay, Bob. Thank you so much for allowing us this interview. We know you have a very busy schedule, so this is a delightful opportunity for us.
Mugabe: You’re welcome. This TNT newsletter is going to be a great help to budding leaders out there, so I thought I’d add my stamp of approval.
TNT: Now, Bob, let’s start at the beginning of your career. When did you know you wanted to become a dictator?
Mugabe: It was when I was in prison, getting some of my correspondence degrees from the Universities of London and South Africa. I have seven degrees, you know. I pride myself on my intelligence.
TNT: So, in prison, you realized you wanted to become a dictator?
Mugabe: Precisely. Sitting in my cell one day doing my homework, I realized, “Hey! I don’t have to be a prisoner for the rest of my life! I can start a brutal guerrilla war, take over the ENTIRE COUNTRY, AND RULE MERCILESSLY BY MYSELF! MU-HAH-HAH!”
Ahem. Sorry about the sinister laugh. That sometimes happens involuntarily.
TNT: Not a problem.
Mugabe: Anyway, it was really a profound moment for me. It was then I knew I could rule Zimbabwe with an iron hand.
TNT: So, how did you end up taking control?
Mugabe: Well, it was a fairly straightforward process. I took the same steps most totalitarians do. I got control of my political party, took out some key opposition leaders, and seized control of media outlets. Then I triumphed in fair and transparent elections. And then, people kept voting for me for the next 25 years. What can I say? People love me!
TNT: Of course they do. You’re such a powerful and enigmatic man.
Mugabe: I know.
TNT: Some critics have compared you to Adolph Hitler. Do you think that’s an accurate assessment?
Mugabe: I think that’s accurate in some ways. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again—‘Hitler had only one objective: justice for his people, sovereignty for his people, recognition of the independence of his people and their rights over their resources. If that is Hitler, then let me be a Hitler tenfold.’ That said, I’m not aiming for complete world domination right now. I’m old, so I’m just trying to live out the last years of my life in peace while helping the citizens of my dominion.
TNT: You have a prosperous and thriving country to run, so we’ll let you get back to leading your nation wisely. Thank you for your time.
Mugabe: Thank you! It’s been a pleasure.

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1. State Media Rules!
All media outlets should fall under your direct jurisdiction. If people complain, remind them that government-regulated media ensures quality control. If they keep whining, imprison them.

2. You Are The Decider.
Everything good in your country is a result of your wisdom. Everything bad stems back to The United States and ruthless Western imperialism.

3. Steal a Nuke
Negotiating is easier when you have WMDs. If you can’t get weapons technology from China (nukeinfo@china.gov), try North Korea. The NK Weapons Office is open M-F 9-5 Korean Standard Time. Contact them at (850) 686-7439. Or email Kim directly at kjong-il@dprk.gov.

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In a move TNT can only describe as masterful, Kim Jong-Il and his dedicated group of scientists successfully launched a 3-stage rocket into orbit on April 5, 2009. Although international critics derided the launch, calling it “brinkmanship” and “propaganda”, and brazenly insisting the rocket never went into orbit, we know the truth. Our Beloved Leader calls the rocket “a striking demonstration,” noting that North Korea’s “scientists and technicians developed both the multistage carrier rocket and the satellite with their own wisdom and technology 100 percent and accurately put the satellite into orbit at one go” (see Korean News Online for full details). Yet another success from one of the model tyrants of our times. Congratulations, General Secretary.

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Good news for those who hated How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) and The Cat in the Hat (2003): the newest Dr. Seuss film adaptation, Horton Hears a Who!, isn’t that bad. Sadly, it isn’t that good, either. In spite of improvements over recent live-action versions of Seuss’s wacky tales, the computer-animated Horton fails to capture the power and tone of the original book. It’s an okay movie, but it’s not Seuss.

Horton Hears a Who!, based on the classic children’s book by Theodore Seuss Geisel, tells the tale of Horton, a caring and gentle elephant, who one day hears a noise coming from a small speck of dust and discovers that a group of people called “Whos” inhabit the speck. Horton’s incredulous friends threaten to boil him in “Beezlenut Oil” unless he denies the Whos’ existence, but with the help of every Who in Whoville, Horton escapes harm and saves the Whos from destruction.

Blue Sky Studios, the company behind Ice Age (2002) and Robots (2005), tries hard – and in large measure succeeds – to make this movie better than other feature-length Seuss adaptations. Horton’s production design shines. The wacky curves and imaginative art that characterize Seuss’ work look great in three dimensions. In fact, computer animation seems a perfect medium for Seuss’ worlds. Where live-action Seuss characters in Grinch and Cat in the Hat seem eerie rather than fanciful, Horton’s CG characters are zany and cartoony without appearing freakish.

Steve Carell’s depiction of the well meaning but slightly paranoid and insecure Mayor of Whoville, fits Carell well. Carol Burnett is appropriately snotty in her role as the Sour Kangaroo, and Will Arnett’s portrayal as a thickly-accented vulture assassin is hilarious.

What irks is Jim Carrey’s performance in the title role. (Go figure.) Carrey used his over-the-top improvisational humor to great effect in films like Dumb and Dumber and Bruce Almighty. With Horton Hears a Who!, however, Carrey’s manic energy detracts from the story. Seuss’ Horton is a gentle, humble, honest, and genuinely compassionate character. Carrey destroys that goodness, insisting instead that every serious moment also contain a comedic aside or distracting gag. Carrey’s gaffs mean we never really know who Horton is, or if he means what he says. This is a big deal, given Horton’s memorable motto: “I meant what I said and I said what I meant, an elephant’s faithful 100 percent!” In the film, we don’t know if Horton is faithful, or if his motto is just the setup for yet another one-liner.

The gags in the film also slow down the story and detract from its message. When I read Horton as a child, I didn’t know whether to cry or to cheer at the book’s conclusion. Watching the film’s climax, however, I merely cringed. All the jokes and pop-culture references made me ambivalent about the characters and their plight. Horton jests so much that the book’s messages of loyalty, courage, and individual worth fall flat.

Horton Hears a Who! is beautifully animated. It’s also much better than other full-length Seuss adaptations. Still, in its attempts to stretch the story material with incessant wisecracks, Horton sucks the life out of Seuss’ message. While Horton’s quality far surpasses The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat, it lacks what gives Seuss books their appeal: soul.

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It’s only 2009, but I’m going to make a prediction: Brian Selznick’s 2008 Caldecott-winning The Invention of Hugo Cabret will be the decade’s most influential children’s book. Selznick’s amazing work combines long, storyboard-like sequences, stills from silent films, and a novel-length narrative to create a thrilling new reading experience that defies categorization. The work challenges the concept of what constitutes a book and opens exciting storytelling possibilities for all genres of literature.

Selznick’s story tells of an orphan named Hugo who lives in early 20th-century Paris. Hugo repairs clocks by day, steals materials for his inventions by night, and watches silent films whenever he can. When Hugo finds remnants of an automaton (a gear-driven robot) in his late father’s shop, he decides to finish it, unraveling a startling mystery in the process.

Selznick’s masterful black-and-white pencil drawings reinforce the tale’s dark subject matter and make us feel as if Hugo’s adventure really occurred. Rather than dividing a page into visual sections as a graphic novel might, each image in Hugo Cabret has its own two-page spread, making the book feel more like a storyboard sequence or a film than a graphic novel. Words and images never share the same space, so there are no speech or thought bubbles, action lines, or callouts in the frames. Rather, Selznick gives the reader a few frames of artwork, switches into several pages of prose, and then reverts to artwork. The author’s refusal to play by conventional storytelling standards results in a challenging and unique tale.

Yet for all its artistry and innovation, Hugo Cabret often feels simplistic. This is a children’s book, of course, but I kept hoping for the complexity of Harry Potter and getting, instead, The Hardy Boys and Boxcar Children. The story’s mystery ends up being rather obvious, and the characters frequently act with no motivation. One key character, for example, vacillates between lunacy, angst, and tenderness without the reader understanding why. Hugo Cabret deals superficially with orphanhood, dementia, alcoholism, death, and depression, but the narrative seems overly facile and neo-Dickensian.

What Hugo lacks in plot, however, it compensates through inventive design and imagery. In a way, Hugo is like the silent films it discusses – sometimes brilliant, sometimes awkward, but exciting for the creative possibilities it suggests. It effortlessly weaves elements of graphic novels, ordinary novels, children’s books, and film. It foreshadows picture novels in which not just comic art but more refined artwork will augment complex, thought-provoking narratives. Standing above Twilight, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and perhaps even Harry Potter, The Invention of Hugo Cabret shines as the most innovative children’s book I have read (or likely will read) this decade.

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One morning as you pass a newsstand, Time magazine’s cover catches your eye. On it, the most recent US President raises her arms in victory, turns to hug her husband, and beams widely over her recent reelection. You pause for a moment and lift a hot cup of Starbucks to your lips. The mermaid on your cup dives into the water, emerges, then waves. Like Time, she too is moving.

While all this sounds like an odd twist on Harry Potter, E Ink, the company behind the Amazon Kindle and recent Esquire cover, sees moving images on paper as imminent reality. E Ink’s developers hope that their electronic paper displays (EPDs) will reinvent the way we see paper and even the way we communicate. They think even J.K. Rowling will be impressed.

To understand EPDs’ ingenuity and to see how electronic paper creates moving images, think back to your preschool days. Remember the Magna Doodle? Electronic paper works in a similar (though much more elaborate) way. First, it uses a thin film of circuitry placed on virtually any surface – a wall, a piece of paper, a shirt. The circuitry controls what the surface displays. On top of the circuitry, E Ink prints a layer of “electronic ink”. Then, it covers the whole thing with a protective coating.

Like the fuzzy metal pieces in the Magna Doodle, electronic ink contains particles that hold a magnetic charge. These particles float around in “microcapsules” – tiny spheres about as thick as a human hair. Unlike the Magna Doodle, electronic ink’s particles are black and white; white particles are positively charged, and the black ones hold negative charges. The plastic circuits beneath the ink send electric charges to control how the black and white particles display. When the circuits send positive charges, the black particles attract to them and the white particles are repelled; vice-versa with negative charges. Varying the charges allows for different shades of gray. With a little programming, the circuits display entire images, each microcapsule of ink forming part of the whole. Anyone who has seen the Kindle has seen electronic paper at work.

The beauty of electronic paper is that it does not use back or front lighting. Modern LCD and LED displays rely on lights placed behind or in front of a screen in order to produce an image. This leads to problems when looking at an LCD screen in well-lit areas (ever tried viewing a laptop screen outside on a sunny day?). In contrast, electronic ink simply brings charged particles to the surface, so viewers can read electronic paper from any angle in any lighting situation, just like paper. Additionally, EPDs do not require power to maintain an image, which makes for a much more energy efficient surface.

Electronic paper’s possibilities are endless. Because electronic paper requires so little power, it can be used on almost anything – gift wrap, billboards, cars – you name it. What’s more, E Ink hopes the same wireless technology that allows readers to download new books to their Kindles will allow EPDs to update themselves. Magazines and newspapers might have headlines that change throughout the day; restaurant cups could be reprogrammed, not discarded, when a chain decides to push a new product or change its look; authors could post corrections that would appear automatically in their most recent e-books. To get an idea of how this might work, consider the October Esquire cover. The cover’s images are programmed to blink in black and white, but what if the cover could refresh itself like your computer screen (or your Kindle) does? You could then view a magazine cover that moved, that refreshed with breaking news or displayed more than one important story.

Of course, electronic paper is still young. E Ink sees its product permeating every facet of life, but electronic ink can now only display in grayscale, and scientists have yet to perfect wireless control of electronic paper. Still, E Ink boasts about its Potter-like prototypes, and it is experimenting with different pigments and filters to create color EPD models. In spite of its current limitations, electronic paper will change the future. It’s even possible that some time soon, as you sip your Starbucks, J.K. Rowling will be the one raising her arms in victory.

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On June 27, 2008, Pixar Animation Studios released its newest computer-animated feature film, Wall-E. Months prior to Wall-E’s release, the entertainment industry discussed Pixar’s brave decision to take a robotic character, make audiences fall in love with him, and do so through a film with little or no dialogue. Critics and analysts wondered whether audiences would accept a movie where the first half featured only sound effects and music (Carliss 2008). But the naysayers met disappointment when the film garnered more than $63 million its first weekend and within 17 days became the 22^nd most profitable animated film ever. What is remarkable about Wall-E, however, is not its technical wizardry (which it showcases amply) but the fact that it is the ninth of nine Pixar movies to open to rave reviews and box office success. Four of Pixar’s films rank in the ten highest-grossing animated films, and seven of them rank in the top 100 all-time highest-grossing films (Box Office Mojo 2008, All-time domestic box-office results and Box Office Mojo 2008, Animation movies). How, one asks, does Pixar do it? How do Pixar’s films consistently appeal to such wide-ranging audiences?¹ What rhetorical strategies does Pixar use to remain king of the animation hill?

Before discussing how Pixar resonates with audiences, it must be noted that Pixar does not like to be told its films are built for a particular audience. Andrew Stanton, writer and director of Finding Nemo and Wall-E, says that targeting specific audiences “is never part of the equation. I think about kids in as much as I go, ‘What do I want to see?’ And I know that what I want to see are movies that I can take my whole family to on the weekend” (qtd. in Caro 2008). That said, the filmmakers do much to make their films resonate equally with children and adults, even if they deny targeting anyone specifically. The films work precisely because they speak to both audiences. According to John Lasseter, Chief Creative Officer at Pixar and director of Cars, Pixar films function because of three things: their stories, their characters, and the believability of their worlds (Wolff 2006). Pixar’s goal is to captivate audiences through well-told, carefully constructed stories, strong, dimensional characters, and intricately designed, well-researched, and believable worlds. The realization of this goal gives Pixar success.

A Good Story

Nothing happens at Pixar without a good story. Cohesive, believable storytelling is the goal of the company (Pixar 2008). Although its filmmakers possess the most advanced animation software in the world, Pixar believes that “story is king” (Cotta Vaz 2004, 9). Says John Lasseter, “Always with us, technology is subservient to the story. . . . Story drives it all” (qtd. in Kurtti 1998, 15). Pixar’s story team takes great pains to explore every plot detail. If a story has problems – if there are too many characters, or if a character’s actions lack motivation, the story developers scrap their previous efforts and begin again. Michael Arndt, screenwriter for the film, Little Miss Sunshine, and now a Pixar employee, says that “writing a script at Pixar is like trying to build a house, and every six weeks somebody comes and throws a hand grenade into it. You’ve got to build it really strong to survive this continual assault. . . . [If] it’s weak, if it’s flimsy, it’s just going to get blown apart” (qtd. in Wolff 2006). This focus on strong storytelling often creates difficulties for the company. The release of Cars was postponed to tighten the story, and Ratatouille’s creator, Jan Pinkava, was removed from his directorial position on the film when it became apparent to Pixar that Pinkava could not take the film’s story where it needed to go (Wolff 2008 and Price 2008, 249-250).

In spite of the problems Pixar’s story mantra causes, the films work because of religious adherence to it. Pixar’s films are tightly written, their plots practically impervious. In fact, obsession with story has led some critics to wonder if Pixar will ever misstep (Ebert 2004). The stories’ cogency, however, is not the only reason audiences love the films. They contain specific rhetorical elements that appeal to children and adults in different ways.

Appeals to Children
Pixar movies are full of child characters whose actions are crucial to the plot. These characters face difficult problems with which children relate. For example, Toy Story’s plot revolves around a boy who has lost his favorite toys; A Bug’s Life features a child bug, Dot, who feels disrespected because of her youth; in Monster’s, Inc., Boo is a toddler who is scared of monsters; Finding Nemo and The Incredibles feature child characters facing kidnapping² and an unchallenging school system full of difficult teachers, respectively. When Pixar films do not feature prominent child characters, their main characters are often diminutive. Ratatouille’s Remy, for example, and Wall-E are small characters facing tough tasks³. Pixar’s inclusion of child (or childlike) characters speaks to children, who often see themselves as co-participants in the plot. By featuring child characters whose challenges kids understand, the films connect emotionally with young audiences.

Child protagonists alone do not make the films work. Serious films that pair child characters with mature subject matter (films like the French Ponette, for example) would fall flat with children. Kids need to understand the plotline, too. Pixar films make this possible through exaggerative physical action. They purposely exaggerate the movements and actions of the characters in order to appeal to children. A comparison between Pixar’s A Bug’s Life (1998) and Dreamworks’ Antz 1998, illustrates this. The opening sequence of A Bug’s Life shows ants harvesting grain. A group of ants extracts individual grains from long shoots of grass and drops them to their coworkers, who then store the food. After tossing down a few choice grains, one worker drops a ripe raspberry on one of the ants below. Instead of catching a small grain, as the ant below expected, a raspberry many times his size plasters him and covers him up to his legs. The audience roars approvingly at this gag. Although young children might not understand all of the film’s dialogue, this sort of physical humor keeps them entertained throughout the film. The movie Antz, however, begins with a monologue by the main character, Z (voiced by Woody Allen), in which he relates to his ant therapist all of the psychological problems associated with ant life. The result? In A Bug’s Life, children understand the exaggerated action, while Antz’s humor often passes over younger audience’s heads (Price 2008, 174).

Appeals to Adults
Adults, too, find Pixar films engaging. The films feature adult characters who face “grown-up” challenges. These characters speak as adults would – their dialogue is never simplified in order to appeal to kids. Interestingly, the “real-life” challenges they face are always paired with a wholly imaginary situation. Mr. Incredible (The Incredibles, 2004) faces a stalled and unsatisfying career, bickering children and an arch-nemesis bent on his destruction. Linguini (Ratatouille, 2006) does not know where his life is headed, has fallen madly in love with an unattainable girl, and has a pet rat who is a better cook than he. The effect of this pairing of adult themes with imaginary settings is that the adult audience empathizes with the characters while reveling in the magic of it all.

Adults also appreciate the movies’ myriad cultural references and directorial nods. For example, Toy Story (1995), features a shot in which a for-sale sign reads, “Virtual Realty”, a play on the virtual reality computers create. Finding Nemo (2003) salutes Alfred Hitchcock with a scene reminiscent of The Birds. Wall-E (2008) mimics a scene from 2001: A Space Odyssey, even using the film’s Richard Strauss accompaniment.

Pixar films reference each other, as well. The famous “Pizza Planet” truck featured in the first Toy Story (1995) appears in almost every Pixar film.⁴ In Monster’s Inc. (2001), Boo’s room is full of toys, including toy characters from other Pixar films. These references make the stories more palatable for adults, who appreciate the subtle acknowledgement of their presence in the audience.

Endearing Characters

Pixar’s directors do at least two things to make their characters likeable. First, they give them human characteristics – quirks, attitudes, desires – that viewers understand. Second, they caricature the characters, making them appear humanlike without being too realistic. Animators at Pixar understand that in order for audiences to invest in the characters, something about those characters must resonate with them. To create that resonance, Pixar gives its characters, even its anthropomorphized ones, attributes that make the characters seem human. The character Wall-E is a perfect example. Wall-E presented a particular challenge for animators, because he could not speak and had few human features. (He has eyes but no mouth, ears, or nose. He has arms but only metal pincers for fingers. He has rotating, tank-like treads for feet.) Furthermore, humans program robots, so how can a robot have emotions? Andrew Stanton and his crew used pathos to solve the problems associated with Wall-E’s nonhuman attributes. They put the character alone on a planet and made him lonely. Stanton says that since loneliness “is obviously a very human trait, not one that you necessarily equate with a robot. . . . That becomes [the] way to get people into [the] story, to get them to relate to the poor little guy” (qtd. in Vice 2008). Wall-E is just one example of Pixar’s well-rounded characters with human idiosyncrasies. Mike Wazowski’s cocky, wise-guy attitude (Monster’s Inc. 2001), Hopper’s phobia of birds (A Bug’s Life, 1998), and Syndrome’s penchant for “monologuing” (The Incredibles 2004), all make the characters “people” with whom the audience relates.

Design plays a crucial role in the creation of Pixar’s characters. Instead of attempting to recreate reality in its character designs, Pixar caricatures it. Although the company’s process of developing an animated character seems counterintuitive, given the entertainment industry’s tendency to tout realism in computer graphics, John Lasseter extols his method’s virtues. He states, “At Pixar . . . reality is just a convenient measure of complexity – we take a step back and create something the audience knows is not real, then we make it look as believable as possible” (qtd. in Cotta Vaz 2004, 20). Instead of creating a realistic human being, for example, Pixar artists begin with abstract concepts of their characters. Teddy Newton, production designer for The Incredibles, created initial character designs with paper collage cutouts. His creations were angular and simple, with few facial features and only the most essential forms. This approach allowed the animators to simplify the human characters in the film. The caricaturing of reality gives the characters believability without venturing into what is known in animation and robotics circles as “uncanny valley” – that realm where human characters appear strangely accurate but are foreign enough to produce revulsion in audiences (Price 2008, 223).

Two other important examples of Pixar’s simplification of reality in design are Finding Nemo and A Bug’s Life. In the first, animators simplified the fish designs, moved the fish characters’ eyes from the side to the front of the face, and gave the characters teeth (Cotta Vaz 2003, 26-29, 68, 110-119). A Bug’s Life’s characters are similarly simplified. The main characters have only two eyes, most of them stand on two feet, have four appendages, and hair and mandibles are absent from all of them. The resulting cast of characters often appears more human than insect, and this is intentional. Audiences like Pixar’s characters because they are caricatures, not because of their realism.

A Believable World

Pixar creates strong stories and emotionally captivating characters while unfolding a world in which the audience believes. As it does with character design, Pixar exaggerates its worlds to make them credible and incredible at the same time. Again, the goal is not to replicate reality but to reduce reality to understandable elements. Pixar creates believable worlds first by studying the reality from which the worlds come. For Finding Nemo, animators became scuba certified and examined coral reefs. In Cars, Pixar artists traveled Route 66 to get a feel for the small-town life John Lasseter wanted to convey. For Wall-E, Andrew Stanton asked Johnny Ive, Apple’s famous designer, to offer advice on his film’s robotic character designs (Siklos 2008). Because Pixar painstakingly researches the real world, its animators know how to exaggerate contrived ones. The artists, knowing that accurate depictions of nature in computer animation can overwhelm audiences, reduce reality to include only necessary components. This simplification allows viewers to understand that the world they are experiencing has a basis in reality but is not reality itself. Finding Nemo is a perfect example of this reduction. The Great Barrier Reef is a complex environment that contains a dizzying amount of visual information. Pixar artists realized this and found that by reducing the reef to simple graphic elements, they could simultaneously make the world believable and easily comprehensible to viewers (Cotta Vaz 2003, 18-23). The combination of careful research and graphic simplification creates a filmic world that is complex enough for adults to appreciate but simple enough for children to understand.

To Infinity . . .

With so many successes and no end in site, one wonders how the team at Pixar continues coming up with new material. Although Pixar remains secretive about its projects, it appears that its future approach will combine innovative new film ideas while capitalizing on past successes. In 2009, Up!, an action adventure film about an 80-year-old man⁵ hits theaters, and in 2010 Toy Story 3 appears (Topel 2007). Regardless of the films’ subject matter, they will certainly have the strong storytelling, memorable characters, and stunningly detailed worlds audiences have come to expect. If it continues creating films using its past strategies, Pixar’s future will be bright, indeed.

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Barack Obama’s remarkable October 2, 2002 address showcases the man’s powerful rhetorical abilities. His speech uses pathos, ethos, and logos to argue against the war in Iraq. Its prompt disarming of rivals, its allusions to Lincoln, its references to the Gettysburg Address, and its constant repetition of key points, lend its argument tremendous rhetorical power.

Obama begins his remarks by diffusing his adversaries’ potential arguments. He does so by stating his position on war. “I stand before you as someone who is not opposed to war in all circumstances. . . . I don’t oppose all wars,” he declares. He then references his father’s World War II service in Patton’s army. He also mentions his earlier support of President Bush’s anti-terrorism policies and says that he would be willing to die to protect the nation. By firmly admitting war’s sad necessity, referencing his own heroic ancestry, and stating his willingness to engage in just war, Barack Obama preemptively responds to questions about his patriotism or courage.

Obama knows that critics might call his anti-war stance naïve. They may argue that although he is patriotic, he does not understand the Iraq situation; if he did, he would support the war. To refute this idea, Obama discusses Saddam Hussein’s horrific rule, predicting how a war with Iraq might affect the Middle East. Later, he discusses how America’s international diplomacy could solve some of the United States’ difficult problems. By speaking candidly about Iraq, Obama dispels the notion that he does not understand America’s predicament. The audience feels, through the speaker’s logical explanation, that Obama knows his stuff.

Of course, Obama’s initial remarks do more than extol patriotism and quell criticism. They also foreshadow later use of the Gettysburg Address by declaring The Civil War justified. The obvious function of referencing The Civil War is to establish war’s sad necessity. A more subtle intent is to direct listeners to make the connection between this reference at the beginning of the speech and excerpts from the Gettysburg Address used later. Mentioning The Civil War early in his speech leads the audience to later connect Obama’s remarks with those of President Lincoln.

When speaking of his father’s actions in World War II, Obama says that his father “did not fight in vain”. Later, when speaking of war’s destructive impact, Obama says that patriotic Americans must not be allowed to “prove the full measure of [their] devotion” and “to make such an awful sacrifice in vain”, both phrases from the Gettysburg Address. Obama’s references to The Civil War and the Gettysburg Address lend his remarks credibility in a number of ways. First, they conjure images of President Lincoln. By calling Lincoln to his side, Obama shows the audience that he knows his history and that the great American President would similarly have opposed war with Iraq. Another effect is that Obama invites listeners to make connections between himself and Lincoln. The audience, knowing Obama’s origins as an Illinois lawyer, will recall Lincoln’s similar background. Finally, the Gettysburg Address excerpts question the validity of the impending Iraq invasion in an argument that works like this: The Civil War was justified. It was also horrific. Gettysburg itself was terrible, but that sacrifice was necessary. Is the sacrifice we are about to ask of Americans similarly necessary? If a just war caused such deep physical and emotional anguish, how much more will a war with no foreseeable end? If Lincoln, while engaged in a “good war”, considered war hell, why are Americans so anxious to attack in the more questionable Iraq case? In short, referencing the Gettysburg Address powerfully conveys Obama’s opinion that the invasion is simply wrong.

While the speech’s use of the Gettysburg Address is significant, perhaps more important is its use of repetition. Obama repeatedly and forcefully drives home his speech’s three points: that Obama is not opposed to all wars, that he is opposed to dumb wars, and that if President Bush wants a fight, he should do something besides fight Iraq. As mentioned previously, Obama’s statement, “I don’t oppose all wars”, diffuses possible arguments against his anti-war position. Repetition underscores the idea that Obama is not a draft-dodging wimp but an intelligent, ethical fighter. “I don’t oppose all wars” is also a strategy that relies on the beliefs of the audience. Obama knows that many in his audience also believe in “good wars”, so his repetition strikes a chord with listeners holding similar values. The hope is that supporters of “good wars” will listen to what Obama has to say because they hold common beliefs.

Another repeated phrase that engages Obama’s audience also supplants Bush’s defense of the Iraq invasion. After stating that he is not opposed to war, Obama remarks, “What I am opposed to is a dumb war.” Later, “That’s what I’m opposed to. A dumb war. A rash war.” Finally, a combination of his previous statements: “I am not opposed to all wars. I’m opposed to dumb wars.” Obama’s use of the “dumb war” phrase undermines George Bush’s pre-invasion rhetoric. According to Obama, an invasion is not just wrong but stupid. The word “dumb” denotes not only a bad or ill-conceived idea but one that is also ridiculous in every sense. It implies not only that military engagement in Iraq is stupid but that its proponents lack sense. By repeatedly calling the war “dumb”, Obama need merely mention his political adversaries’ names in the same paragraph and they will, by extension, be considered “dumb”. Since Obama opposes “dumb wars” and Richard Perle, Paul Wolfowitz and Karl Rove do not, they are dumb. To ensure, however, that his listeners understand how “dumb” Bush’s advisors are, Obama also gives Perle, Wolfowitz, and Rove a sound verbal thrashing. They are “cynical”, “armchair, weekend warriors”, and “political hacks”. While the mentioning of the war’s stupidity in conjunction with his opponents’ names may have been enough to make his point, Obama allows no misinterpretation – these men are morons.

Obama’s final use of repetition is a callout to President Bush. “You want a fight, President Bush?”, Obama repeatedly asks. By asking President Bush if he wants a fight, Obama sends his audience three messages. The first is that Barack Obama is prepared to fight for America. The second is that although Bush wants someone to blame for 9/11, he has chosen the wrong target; obviously, Bush has problems choosing his battles. The third message is that Obama is ready to fight, even if it means a fight against Bush himself. The question, “You want a fight?” is remarkably similar to “You wanna fight?”, and Obama hopes his audience will make the connection.

Although Barack Obama delivered this speech almost 6 years ago, the work remains powerful. Obama’s intention is to gather support against the Iraq invasion, and his remarks do so brilliantly. The speech’s quick dismissal of critics’ arguments, its subtle references to Lincoln, and its careful use of repetition send a strong message to the audience that the proposed war is wrong. Of course, many of Obama’s predictions about the invasion occurred, which lends weight to his words; but the rhetorical construction of the speech is what makes the remarks most effective.

WORK CITED
Obama, Barack. 2 Oct. 2002. Remarks of Illinois State Sen. Barack Obama Against Going to War with Iraq. Barack Obama for America. 20 June 2008.

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How does an industry combat increasing consumer ambivalence aimed directly at it? What does it do when attacked by groups criticizing its product? How does it argue that its century-old commodity is the hope of the future? The American Petroleum Industry’s advertisement in the June 16, 2008 issue of US News & World Report attempts to addresses all those dilemmas. Its subtle use of text and visual imagery blends ethos, logos, and pathos to muster support for oil as an energy source and to argue for greater access to America’s oil and natural gas resources.

Textual use of ethos begins with the ad’s introductory lines. “Is tomorrow’s energy right in front of us?”, the ad asks, and how can “we find enough oil to power 60 million cars for 60 years?” (API 2008). The article’s use of first person plural establishes that energy is a concern for both the author and the reader. An imminent fuel crisis is not something the reader alone confronts but a predicament all Americans face. Because the ad admits that energy is a mutual concern, the reader feels comfortable with rather than challenged by the information presented.

While the authors use ethos to establish a trusting relationship with their audience, they also utilize statistics and factual claims to convince the reader. The intent is to make the ad’s statements appear logical, even if those statements remain unqualified. For example, the ad suggests that “112 billion barrels of oil and 656 trillion cubic feet of natural gas” are at America’s fingertips; “30 billion barrels” of oil lie untapped; Americans will need “19% more energy in 2030” than they do today; and “a tangled mix of federal and state regulatory restrictions” makes the “Outer Continental Shelf” off limits. A casual glance at these claims convinces the reader of the authors’ knowledge. Obviously, anyone using this many statistics in an advertisement must have valid arguments. Still, most readers will not fully understand the article’s claims. Readers will not be able to comprehend how much oil is in 112 billion barrels or what 656 trillion cubic feet of natural gas means, but that is the point. One need not grasp the nuances of oil policy to understand the argument. What matters is that the readers perceive the advertisement’s validity through the claims themselves. The goal is the appearance of substance, not substantiation.

As mentioned, the question, “Is tomorrow’s energy right in front of us?”, uses ethos to engage the reader. It also subtly employs pathos. By asking if the answer to America’s energy needs is already available, the authors acknowledge an impending problem. Admittedly, Americans will need energy in the future, they say. Rather than ask how Americans will provide their energy, however, a statement that would inherently question petroleum’s adequacy, the authors frame their argument by asking if tomorrow’s energy might already be available. Posing the question in this way discounts alternative energy sources and suggests the authors’ possession of a better plan. Similarly, the first paragraph questions not how cars will be powered or if cars are the best mode of transport but how Americans will find enough oil for those cars. According to the ad, since Americans need natural gas and oil, the question is not whether oil is good but where it can be found.

Once the authors show the need to access more petroleum, they use pathos to shift focus from the oil industry to the government. Paragraphs two and three suggest that oil is obtainable but that governmental policies hinder its development. By blaming the government, the authors avoid any questioning of the oil industry itself. After all, oil producers are only trying to help Americans power their cars and heat their homes; legislation, conversely, keeps Americans from much needed fuel sources.

Pathos also clearly surfaces in the ad’s concluding paragraphs. Not only does oil fuel every facet of American life, but it also drives the economy, the article states. Developing oil and natural gas creates jobs and increases funding to all levels of government. The implications are that economic growth depends on increased domestic oil production and that current economic conditions and high oil prices stem from the government’s refusal to allow more drilling. The advertisement closes with an emotional plea to help America maintain its “unequaled quality of life” by helping increase domestic oil production. America’s bright future depends on its use of resources, and only by uniting in defense of responsible development can The United States succeed.

Just as language creates sympathy for domestic oil production, so the visuals of the piece use pathos, logos, and ethos to move the reader. The most prominent visual is the full-color photograph of a young boy playing happily with his mother. Positioned to be the first thing one sees and presented in full color to contrast with the content beneath it, the photograph uses pathos to engage the audience. The image reminds the reader of his/her own loved ones and forcefully argues that today’s energy decisions will affect this family and millions of families like it.

Another prominent visual element in the advertisement is the dark gray box in the middle left. This statistical element uses logos to make its point, and its tail points to the most important statement of the piece – that government restrictions keep oil production down. The size and value of the callout box, combined with the statistic it contains, make this element one of the first things the reader sees. Clearly, the authors hope that if the audience reads little else, they will read this. Again, the statement’s power lies not in its intelligibility (most readers will not know exactly what the statistic means) but in its factual appearance.

Two visual elements use ethos to validate the authors’ claims. One of these elements is the clever logotype used in the bottom right portion of the ad. It reads, “The People of America’s Oil and Natural Gas Industry”, with “People” displayed prominently in a bolder typeface and color. It appears at the end of the message, in an area where one typically signs a personal letter. Its design and placement suggest that the message comes from a group of average Americans who happen also to have an interest in natural gas and oil. Another element that makes the advertisement welcoming is the inclusion of the web address, “EnergyTomorrow.org”. By placing the URL far from other graphical elements, the authors draw attention to the site’s name. The words “energy” and “tomorrow” suggest that the ad may come from a company interested in alternative fuels. Furthermore, when combined with the “People of America” logotype, the “.org” of the URL leads the reader to believe the advertisement comes from a non-profit group interested in discovering new methods of energy production.

This advertisement uses rhetorical strategies very carefully to achieve its ends. Its use of voice, as well as its careful naming and placement of graphic elements makes the author comfortable with the ad’s statements. Logical arguments throughout the text lend the ad an appearance of factuality. Appeals to the emotions, through images and text, plead for the reader’s support. In short, the advertisement employs every rhetorical device at its disposal in an attempt to increase support for oil production. Whether the ad is effective in its devices is another question entirely – one that would require the use of rhetoric to answer.

WORKS CITED

API. 2008. Is tomorrow’s energy right in front of us?. US News & World Report. 16 June 2008: 66.

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Gracefully, the dancer’s feet race across the stage. A wide-angle shot reveals Eugene Onegin carefully approaching his seat. The camera cuts to Onegin trampling toes in the theater aisle. A close-up of the ballerina’s footwork reveals the correlation between the movements of the remarkable dancer and those of the foppish protagonist (13). Striking descriptions like these in the first chapter play remarkably like a motion picture. Though the eighteenth-century Pushkin obviously never made a film, his novel in verse uses film-like conventions. Eugene Onegin’s filmic crosscutting and constant narrative interruption present an intense, subjective view of life that forces the reader to take an active role in the story’s themes and reveals the indivisibility of reality and art.

In film, a crosscut alternates between a series of shots or scenes to produce a coherent idea. Crosscutting allows the filmmaker to juxtapose related images, quickly depicting an event. An artist can thereby subject the viewer to his perspective by showing only the shots he wants. Most importantly, crosscuts do not show the actual sequence and layout of events. Viewers must take multiple images and make sense of them. Because of this, crosscutting forces the viewer to engage himself in a film’s plot and allows him to form his own opinion. For example, a movie shows a wide shot of a man followed by a crosscut close-up of an apple, of eyes, of the apple again, and then a repetition of the wide shot. Viewers see these images and conclude that the man is looking at, thinking about, or contemplating eating an apple. Crosscutting, then, allows for a rapid, subjective presentation that promotes viewer participation and varied interpretation.

Pushkin’s work uses the literary equivalent of crosscutting to those same ends. He reveals the essence of a subject quickly by tightly packing information into the novel. As James E. Falen’s introduction to the novel explains, Pushkin “wants, if only fleetingly, to capture everything, to absorb it all in his appetite for life . . .” (xiv). Because all facets of life interest Pushkin, he fills each moment with as much energy as possible. Chapter one, stanza twenty-eight, illustrates this fast-paced representation. While reading this passage, one instantly takes in the splendor of the whole scene and imagines the different “shots” the narrator gives: Onegin at the gate, a confused porter, the stairway, nervous hands through disheveled hair, the plunge into the ballroom, the press of bodies (17). In the same stanza, Pushkin’s description of dancing aristocrats and lustful looks played to a violin’s chords and women’s gossip shows the energy and vivacity of his compact poetry (17).

Like a filmmaker, Pushkin crosscuts to present a subjective view of events. In stanza thirty-six of chapter four, for example, Pushkin subjects the reader to “shots” of a disgruntled hunter interspersed with those of an idealistic poet (99). Pushkin uses the interplay between the alcoholic, fly-swatting sportsman and the daydreaming artist to show us that “good and bad both intertwine” (99). While he presents selected characteristics and actions of both men, he does not tell the reader which of the two is more important; rather, he lets the reader decide what to think.

This ambiguity of the narrator towards the novel’s events shows that Pushkin wants his readers to make their own decisions about the story. He uses crosscutting to initiate this activity. In chapter six, stanza thirty-two, Lensky lies wounded after the duel (147). Once again, Pushkin subjectively “shoots” and “cuts” the action, showing Lensky’s brow and the wound in his chest. As the narrator takes us back to the moments before the fight, we see Vladímir’s beating heart and imagine his former dreams and ambitions. Pushkin presents the metaphorical, abandoned house, and then jerks us back to the present by explaining that Lensky is dead (147). The mixture of the present and past with figurative language forces the reader to make the connections between them and asks where Lensky’s soul has gone, what caused Lensky’s death, and how one can avoid this tragedy in one’s own life. Once again, the poet does not respond but lets the reader make his own conclusions.

Another film-like aspect of Eugene Onegin is its interruption of plot by the narrator. Pushkin plays with the suspension of disbelief to prompt interest and introspection in the reader. Constant interjections by the author leave the reader wanting to know more about the plot but also make us step away from the story’s action and answer the questions the plot poses. The author also interrupts to show the inseparability of art and life. Though we may mock some of the fictional events and artistic models presented, the situations and questions posed are real and deserve consideration.

Demonstrating all of these purposes, the narrator gives a lengthy description of a party and then defensively remarks that Greek poets did the same. “I might make mention / In passing,” he says, “that I speak as much / Of feasts and foods and corks and such / In these odd lines of my invention– / as you, great Homer, you whose song / Has lasted thirty centuries long!” (126). By breaking off the action of the party, Pushkin not only sparks the plot-driven interest of the reader but also questions the credibility of Homer’s conventions. This forces the reader to ask whether he accepts Homer’s poetic models because they are great or because society deems them great.

In another passage, Pushkin’s narrator interrupts the action at the Moscow ball to ask his readers why they dislike Onegin’s character (189). Once again, the narrator leaves the reader in suspense. He drops his description of Tanya’s reaction to Eugene’s presence and asks, “Why on earth does [Onegin] inspire / So harsh and negative a view? / Is it because we never tire / Of censuring what others do?” (189). Here, Pushkin questions our instinct to ridicule others’ character flaws. He compels the reader to detach himself from the story and ask whether Onegin represents a true character in society or is merely a convention used to tell an interesting tale. Through this interruption, the narrator again demonstrates that though contrived, Onegin’s characters mirror reality.

Eugene focuses his gaze as the camera pans across the room to show the fashionable women Onegin eyes. Cutting back to a close-up, the camera captures the displeasure and boredom in the title character’s face. As Eugene’s disenchantment with the ballet grows, the camera slowly fades to black (13). With such film-like immediacy and style, Eugene Onegin captures the reader’s attention and never loses it. Using crosscutting, Pushkin’s narrator packs each stanza with verve. The narrator describes only what he wants the reader to know, providing “shots” of action. By leaving the narrative spaces to the reader, these “shots” spark active participation in the work. While the crosscut images Onegin presents are fictional and subjective, the whole our active participation creates represents real situations. Narrative interruptions heighten the plot’s suspense, challenge readers’ perception of artistic and societal conventions, and show that life and art are inseparable. In Eugene Onegin, Pushkin gives us a film worth reading.

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