Unlike so many of the other Disney films of the late 90’s and early 2000’s, Mulan’s got an actual plot and characters with personality.  It has a legit villain in Miguel Ferrer’s yellow-eyed Hun badass, mostly non-annoying side characters and some of Disney’s best design work.  Yes,  it’s also the one where Eddie Murphy is a dragon named Mu Shu, but watch how well that character works despite how out of place it is.  Mu Shu should sink the film, but he comes out as kind of likable.  The same can be said of the songs, which are not particularly great but don’t feel perfunctory like the ones in Hercules.

Mulan herself is perhaps Disney’s strongest female character in their entire filmography.  When she struggles to fight with the men, it’s less because she’s a woman than that she’s never done anything like this before in her life.  By the end of the film, she’s fighting with and outsmarting Hun warlords and saving the empire without a boyfriend coming to her rescue.  In Mulan, the heroine rescues the hero.  Even though Mulan kinda sorta becomes a princess at the end of the film like every Disney heroine, she earns it by saving the Empire, not by marrying a prince.  She comes home not with a dress but a sword as a trophy of her victory.  Mulan kicks ass.

Mulan is the film I wish Disney made every time up to bat.  It has character development, a great story without the pathetic emotional manipulation Disney tends to trade in and the thing by which I’ve always judged a great Disney film against the rest: a fantastic climax.  Look at, say, Hercules, which isn’t a horrible film by any measure. But look at how it ends:  The Titans beat up everyone, then Hercules gets a power-up that lets him easily slay them.  Mulan ends with a well paced action scene, ending with Mulan decisively beating a stronger opponent not through luck, but cunning.

Mulan should be on the list of great Disney films, but I fear it’s too far off the beaten path to get recognized.  For all people’s complaining about Disney movies having too many princesses and not enough role models, I see an awful lot of frilly lace and not that many Chinese swords.

There’s a thing that I keep pretending like I can get away with not doing, though, and I’m about at that point where I need to stop pretending.  It kind of sucks.  But it’s something every single writer who talks about the work says they had to do.

I need to start saying no to friends and stay the hell home and write.  I need to say no to hanging out, no to getting drinks, no to anything that means I don’t get something out onto paper.  All my talk of needing to buckle down is kind of shit, because when you get down to it, there’s always a friend I haven’t given enough time to that I should go grab a beer with.  Drawing a line at this point is cutting something off that I don’t want cut, or at least that I feel guilty about cutting.  It’s easy to put down a Playstation controller.  It won’t get hurt when you tell it that Dragon Age can wait for a bit.

I don’t mean saying no to obligations, like, “Hey, I can’t help you with your fundraiser,” I mean saying no to friends. Saying your faux-career that hasn’t paid you a cent is more important than their emotional needs.  It makes me feel like a shit just thinking about it.

I don’t know where to draw the line on this one. I just know that right now it’s in the wrong place.

I’ve been on this run of serial fiction lately, picking up collections of stuff that originally came out in Astounding Science Fiction or The Magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy.  I started with the original run of Elric stories, if for no other reason than that Amazon gave the Kindle edition away for free.  Something about the raw rush of energy really hit me, even through the dripping-with-emo aura of Moorcock’s albino hero.  It was something fantasy had not been to me in a long time: a really, really good time.

So I wanted more, naturally.  I considered Conan, but Brennen suggested something else: “Doc” E. E. Smith’s Lensman books.  Sure, I thought, why not? I have a severe Science Fiction deficit in my reader-ography, so why not start with the grandaddy of space opera?  I always thought the title Lensman sounded a bit goofy, but it wasn’t like that was a fair criticism of anything after I just finished four novellas about an albino with a soul stealing sword called Stormbringer.

I decided to start with Galactic Patrol, which isn’t exactly the first story in the series, but is the first with its central character, Kimball Kinnison, and covers his first battle with the Boskone pirates.  I wasn’t sure if it was even going to hit me, so rather than try and read the whole series straight through and end up potentially bored, I did something I usually don’t and started in the middle.  I’m glad I did.  Galactic Patrol is just a great, great time.  It’s filled with strange planets, bizarre creatures and insane space battles.  There are spy-beams and projectors and screens and all kinds of other pseudo-scientific things on display, most of which barely makes sense at first but eventually becomes part of the rhythm of the language.  Spy beams flicked out.  Screens gave off rainbow color under the force of the projectors.  Wacky stuff.  Fun.

If you liked Star Wars and can give some really clunky 1930’s dialogue a pass, I think you’d have to work not to have fun reading Galactic Patrol.

Now I’m onto the first book of The Chronicles of Amber, Nine Princes in Amber.  After that, I’ve got both Grey Lensman, the next book in Smith’s series, and The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane by Robert E. Howard.  Solomon Kane just got made into what’s supposedly a pretty awesome film, so before it hits in the U.S. I thought I should read some of the original stories of Howard’s Puritan demon hunter.  I mean, really; Puritan demon hunter.  That’s almost all you have to know.

Fletch

Thanks to Community, I’ve had a hankering to go back and check out old Chevy Chase stuff.  You know, from the days before he stopped being funny and started being banned by the Geneva Convention as an instrument of torture.  Fletch popped up on watch instantly and it seemed like as good a place to start as any.  Maybe it’s because of where Chase was in his career as I was growing up, but I expected one of those Buffoon-Who-Lucks-Into-Success plots that I hate.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that the main character of Fletch was clever, imaginative and witty.  If Chase had played more characters like this and less like Clark Griswold, he might not have needed Community to resurrect his career.  Also, this film was written by the guy who did the original The In-Laws, so you know it’s going to be funny.

Un Chien Andalou

Yeah, we’ve all at least heard of one shot of this movie.  You know the one, where the guy grabs the woman’s head and slits open her eyeball.  This is that film.  Salvadore Dali and Luis Bunuel partnered to create what is probably the single most famous piece of surrealist film (and one of the most famous surrealist works ever).  It’s only fifteen minutes long, and I doubt it could have gone on much longer without wearing out its welcome.  There is nearly no plot to speak of, though the film does center around two characters whose relationships as portrayed makes a weird sort of emotional sense.  There are a number of classic shots – apart from the eye slicing, there’s also a creepy bit with ants crawling out of a hole in a guy’s hand, and a sequence where he rubs a woman’s clothed breast, which then becomes unclothed, then becomes her butt – but the real impact comes from seeing how intricately it’s all strung together.  This is probably seen as a film school kind of thing to watch, but anyone who enjoys film at all should see what the medium can be like if it’s pried out of its typical narrative structure.

Excalibur

A lot of fantasy films came out around the time I was born, and I managed to see very few of them until I grew up.  I think the things that come out when you’re alive but too young to understand are the most awkward to pick up later, though I don’t know why.  We see older films and we see new films, but something about the familiarity of a film that you vaguely remember coming out but didn’t actually see breeds disinterest.  Excalibur gets a lot of praise as one of the few really good fantasy films, but after seeing it I cannot for the life of me see why.  It’s essentially a boring CliffsNotes version of the Arthurian legend, except when it veers off into straight out goofiness.  Over and over again I wondered if the director realized how open he had made himself to Monty Python and the Holy Grail jokes with his too-serious, overblown take on King Arthur.  When Mordred shows up in gold armor with nipples, it was clear nothing could save the movie.  This one hurt to watch.

It’s been a while since I plowed through a fantasy series.  There was a time when it was a huge part of my life.  Even the oft-encountered disappointment didn’t slow me down.  I love to read; mostly I love to read stories.  But most of all I love to read long stories.  Big stories.  Stories that took on pivotal events, that gave me more than the mundane, daily crap I found at school or work.

Before I sat down to write this review, I thought about all of the series’ I’ve got under my belt.  The good ones, those never really leave the mind.  But there are dozens of other ones. Books that I powered through years ago but left a sour taste, or that unshakable feeling of disappointment.  Like Stephen Lawhead’s The Song of Albion, or Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman’s Darksword Trilogy (which were, oddly, lesser novels than their Dragonlance books),  or Mickey Zucker Reichert’s Renshai Trilogy and its sequel.  The interesting thing about them is, despite their flaws,  despite the disappointment, there are things that stuck with me from these books.  Things that were unique to them, that I never got even from more accomplished novels.

Which brings me to Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn.

Mistborn: The Final Empire has a great sounding hook: What would happen if the hero of prophecy failed? What if, at the pivotal moment, the Dark Lord killed him and took power for himself?  The idea of Mistborn’s first novel is an interesting amalgam.  Part turning the genre over on itself with a triumphant Dark Lord, part heist novel as a group of thieves set out to steal a cache of power so important that it could lead to the overthrow of the empire – even if all they’re in it for is the profit.  Cool, huh?

Though the series’ strongest novel, there’s a critical problem that haunts the rest of the series.  Within the first few chapters it becomes clear that the hook – a hook that the author himself says was his starting point – is either a spoiler or a misdirection.  And, for a series’ whose primary theme is trust, it’s disappointing that it betrays its readers’ trust in the first novel.

Still, Sanderson is a good writer, and having read the annotations for the books on its website, it’s clear he really thinks about what he’s doing.  I’m going to get into spoilers, now, and as I do I’m going to be pretty critical of my problems with the series. But let this be known: I had a good time reading it, and I think that Sanderson has the right stuff to make some killer fantasy novels. Hell, if you liked Mistborn, then he’s writing killer fantasy novels right now.  I admit that much of my disappointment in Mistborn is an entirely personal reaction to the conclusion of the series.

Now, let there be spoilers.

Mistborn begins in the city of Luthadel, the seat of The Final Empire.  Yes, the empire is called the Final Empire.  No, it’s not as silly as it sounds.  The empire has been ruled for 1,000 years by a man who seems to be immortal and omnipotent, who took the power of the Well of Ascension and became as a god; he is, as his church proclaims, the Sliver of Infinity.  In other words, this empire is the last one the world will know, for it will last forever; it is, literally, The Final Empire.

And it’s not a pleasant place to live.  By day, ash is spewed into the sky endlessly by volcanoes.  By night, mists that flow like water chase the superstitious into their homes.  And most of the population, known as skaa, work as slaves for the Lord Ruler’s nobility.  Though rebellions are attempted, how do you kill a man with seemingly endless power who can be burnt to a skeleton yet regrow skin in seconds? How do you bring down an empire with a god at its head?

To its credit, Mistborn answers these questions in the first book.  The trilogy is not about killing the Lord Ruler; it’s about the power that he wielded, and the worse danger the tyrant held back.  Even the seeming main character, a powerful but impulsive thief named Kelsier, doesn’t survive to see the end of the first novel.  The hand off to his protege, Vin, is so smooth that I should have seen it coming earlier. We get a trilogy’s worth of plot development in the first volume, which makes for an exciting novel.   Even despite the misdirection/spoiler of the hook – everyone believes the Lord Ruler is the hero of prophecy, meaning you spend all of book one wondering if they’re wrong, or if the book jacket lied to you – The Final Empire is a great read.  It has its problems, mostly in a clunky, implausible opening where a bunch of thieves just kind of decide that taking on a 1,000 year empire is good business, but is very worth the time.

Things get dicier from there. Like many great fantasy series openings, the follow-through has problems.  There’s a great set up, some interesting characters, but the further it goes the less tight it all feels.  With Mistborn, significant pacing problems and an odd lack of scope kill the second book’s momentum and it never really recovers.  And it doesn’t help that the set-up of the first book – that the hero lost – is less interesting than what initially appeared to be the case: that the hero had won, taken the power, then turned into at tyrant.  As the series progresses, I got the feeling that Sanderson was actually more interested in this idea, and he does his best to split the difference with the Lord Ruler’s motivations.

The Well of Ascension takes another fantasy trope, that of the Prophecy of the Hero, and flips it on its head.  The basic idea around it is great, but getting to the end requires slogging through 500 pages of indecision, inaction and inner monologues about indecision and inaction.  There’s an interesting idea of nation building embedded in the book’s structure, but it never gets any momentum.  Yes, the idea of how you hold together a people that are used to a God ruling them is great, but it was disappointing that the best Sanderson managed was a protracted siege of Luthadel by squabbling warlords and a game of musical chairs with the throne of the Empire.  Eland, the man who tries to make the Empire into a better place, spends the entire book thinking about how he wishes he was a better leader.  And Vin, his lover and protector, worries that she’s nothing more than a killer. That’s about it.

Still, the climax of the book had a great moment: Vin begins to believe she’s the true Hero of Ages, the thing the Lord Ruler failed to be.  She makes her way to the Well of Ascension, the source of the Lord Ruler’s power, only to learn that the prophecy of the Hero was a lie, manipulated by a chaos god the Lord Ruler took power to try and contain.  And Vin, trying to fulfill the prophecy, lets it out.

That gave me hope for The Hero of Ages.  Perhaps with one book left to go, Sanderson would set a brisker pace.  I hoped in vain.  Instead of the heroes stuck in a single city defending against a siege, they take an army to another city and…begin a siege.   Mistborn’s problem is common in Big Stories: a lack of scope to the story’s actual events.

I think authors get wrapped up in the scope of their setting and miss the needs of the story.  Yes, The Hero of Ages deals with a godlike power of chaos trying to end the world, and yes, the actions of the heroes are meant to save the world.  That’s not scope, though. That’s setting.  Constructing a plot that matches the scope of the setting can be difficult, and I think that Sanderson got lost trying to create understandable plot points.  In The Well of Ascension, it was resolving the Siege of Luthadel.  In The Hero of Ages, it was the artificial need of finding the Lord Ruler’s hidden supply caches, left to combat the chaos-god Ruin.  At the start of the story, there is one left to claim, and the bulk of the book is spent with the heroes trying to get this one supply cache.  By the time the plot twists come, there are only 100 pages left and the story feels too small because of it.

Scope is a tricky thing, and I’m coming to believe it has more to do with the impression of movement in the plot than with the actual size of the events.  The world ending doesn’t, on its own, give a novel scope.  Scope demands, I think, objectives and motivations to constantly evolve, for goals to be achieved but prove to be only a piece of the story.  Keeping characters mired in indecision for 2/3 of the a novel means, essentially, that nothing happens for 2/3 of a novel, and that kills any sense of scope.  When battle for the fate of the world comes, it feels out of place next to a story about a group of insecure people refusing to make a decision.

This is especially a concern in The Hero of Ages, as while the characters are doing very little, massive chunks of plot revelations are given through the quotes that precede the chapters.  Things like why the world is covered in ash, where the various magic systems of the world are from and the very nature of the villain himself are all given here, and not in the body of the story.  I started to wonder if Sanderson had simply held too much back for book 3 and decided to dump his world notes into the book to catch things up.

Mistborn made something clear to me, though, that I had not noticed before.  Many of the fantasy series’ of the past, the ones that I liked but left me cold at the end, share an important similarity.  They all end with some mixture of the end of the world and the mysterious pseudo-deaths of the main characters.  I don’t mean that the main characters died.  I mean they sort of died but really became gods, or returned to their world, or people thought wait, maybe they didn’t really die and will return again and the audience is left to wonder.  It’s a really, really common ending in fantasy and science fiction.  You can see it from The Matrix to Evangelion to every book series mentioned above.  And I’m starting to think that, as a rule, this kind of ending is simply an unsatisfying cheat.

Mistborn ends with not one but two characters ascending to godhood within 50 pages of each other.  It ends with the world becoming so blasted out by the battle that only two options are possible: an utter remaking or the death of mankind.  And I’m completely unsure of what to make of one of its major character arcs, in which a character teaches hundreds of religions, then becomes an atheist, then becomes god.

I think the problem is that, despite Sanderson’s opinion that allowing his characters to monologue about how insecure they are is character development, in the end he cheats by not giving an actual character ending for them.  It’s just really, really hard to relate to a character whose culmination is and then I remade the world in my image.  I can buy into a character  dying for his cause, or because he failed, or because of bad luck.  But how many more character deaths can I hope to relate to if their death is not really a death and might lead to their eventual return outside of the actual story? I don’t know. Maybe I never had it in me.

And I’m tired of the ambiguity. Did the character die, or not? Did the world end? When it was reborn, do the characters remember what happened? How do they feel about it? Even with omniscience, how good of a god would even the best of humans make, anyway?  If ascending to godhood is the goal of your story, set that up earlier.  Don’t give me the gritty story of people trying to create a government, only to spend 100 pages at the end making everyone turn into gods. Serial Experiments: Lain is maybe the only successful version of this story, and that’s because within 2 episodes “god” is showing up telling Lain that she has the power to change the world.  That is the point of the story, and the character.

I’ve gone all this time without mentioning Mistborn’s intricate magic system, and that’s on purpose. Every reviewer has said how cool and well done Allomancy is. They’re right. It’s neat. It’s consistent. It’s well used.  It’s just that a magic system can’t save a book, even if it makes the battle scenes more interesting an readable. Sanderson did a great job on it, though, so let that be noted.

Yet, despite all my complains, there’s something here. Just like The Darksword Trilogy’s totally batshit last book where the guy with the magic canceling sword has to fight tanks, I came away with something I didn’t have before.  The image of the Ashmounts and the mists will stick with me.  The sad sense of a world being smothered to death by ash will haunt me.  The thought of a world broken by the heroes of old so that it could survive destruction will remain.  And, despite the inordinate amount of time they spent whining and doing little else, many of the characters will stay by my side as well.

All that reminds me of something  important that I shouldn’t forget: Sanderson made me feel like a teenager again, shut up in my bedroom with a book, ignoring the world around me.  I missed that feeling.

The question 0083 poses is this: What led to the formation of the Titans, the elite and fanatical military force that served as Zeta Gundam’s primary antagonists?  At first, this sounds like a neat idea, until you realize that you don’t need to know why the Titans were formed.  The One Year War against Zeon was so destructive, so terrible, that it’s believable that fear of Zeon’s reformation would enable the rise of a unit dedicated to their annihilation. And really, why do we care how the Titans came to be? It’s not like they were a complex and multifaceted bunch, anyway.  I’ve seen Nazis with more nuanced motivations.

I’d like to describe the plot for you, but I’m a little cloudy on what it was.  Yet another remnant of the Principality of Zeon enters stage left and steals one of two experimental Gundams the Federation is testing.  Why one and not both?  Well, besides the fact that stealing Unit 1 would leave the hero would nothing to pilot against Unit 2, it’s not really the Gundam they’re after.  They want the nuclear weapon system it carries.  Why the Federation is building a nuclear weapons system in violation of treaties when there is no enemy to fight is perhaps a question for another OAV.

This kicks off a convoluted series of events known as Operation Stardust. It involves a series of unconnected military actions designed to, I guess, spontaneously reconstitute the Principality of Zeon by use of a nuclear weapon attack followed by a colony drop.  Maybe picking apart the plot isn’t fair.  The Gundam universe portrayed in 0083 is one in which a single nuclear warhead can take out 2/3 of the entire Federation fleet.  If the sky was also purple in this world, it wouldn’t surprise me.

It might have all been worth it if they could have either given us some interesting characters, or ended it with an insane mobile suit battle.  They do neither.  In fact, this might be the only entry in the Gundam franchise not to end with a mobile suit battle at all.  This is not a distinction to praise.  After what felt like fifty hours of pointless skirmishes and indecisive character whining, to end without a couple of characters tearing each other up in big robots was downright heartless.

Kou, the “hero” of 0083 takes the worst parts of every Gundam hero ever but never delivers on the change into someone you can cheer for. His nemesis, Gato, meanwhile, dances around in Char’s shoes for a bit (he is quite literally portrayed as the other best Zeon pilot from the One Year War) before finally getting so bored with the series that he goes on a kamikaze run. Since actual mobile suit combat has little to do with Operation Stardust, the presence of an ace pilot seems like a waste of resources. He gets to pilot the beefiest Gundam this side of SEED’s Providence Gundam, though, so maybe that was worth the trip for him.

There’s also some romance that you’ll want to ignore.  Even with the revelation that the main character and the villain are actually engaged in a love triangle with the same girl, you still won’t care. That the girl in question’s name is Nina Purpleton does not help. Purpleton. Seriously.  It makes you yearn for the days of Seabook Arno, doesn’t it?

By the time you get to the postscript telling you that all record of the events of this series were deleted you’ll be wondering why they couldn’t have told you that the series literally had no point back in the first episode when it would have made a difference.

On the bright side, the mecha designs were done by Shoji Kowamori, he of Macross Plus fame, so there’s a lot of pretty to look at.  And the one decent mecha battle that takes place about 4 episodes from the end is actually worth the time you spend watching it; it’s just not worth the time you spent watching the rest of the OAV.

I hate to be so glib about this, but watching 0083 was a chore and I want to take out my frustration on it somehow.  It tested my patience in a way only one other Gundam series ever has, and at least that one had its bright spots.  This was, frankly, a total waste of time on every level.  The time you spend watching this could be better spent doing almost anything else.  Even if you’re a Gundam completist, I suggest lying about having actually watched this and responding with a few generalities like, “Kou sucked” and “Why the hell wasn’t there a mecha battle at the end?”

I am not joking when I tell you that one of the space ships in this OAV has a wooden steering wheel like the ones on boats in pirate movies. That’s the kind of series this is.

I didn’t even put a video at the top of this review like I do for the rest of my Gundam reviews.  If nothing else has made my spite for this clear, I hope that does the trick.

Erin and I headed out to hit each other with snowballs and I got some shots of my own, local snowpocalypse.

Behold.

* Alternate title considered for this post, but deemed too geeky: Snow Say We All

Yesterday, while looking for the proper Railsy way of doing dynamic sidebars, it became clear that breaking down and watching the railscast that specifically covered the topic was the right thing to do.  An hour and a few failed driver installs later, I had sound and was ready to go.

I shouldn’t have waited this long.

I’m naturally skeptical of video podcasts, or really podcasts of any kind, when I’m looking for the answer to a problem.  Generally I can read faster than I can listen, and I have that cranky Luddite gene that makes me skeptical of newfangled ways of doing things.  The irony of being adverse to change while working on a newfangled web development platform does not escape me.  But sometimes – maybe a lot of the time -  you’re wrong, and I was dead wrong here.

Railscasts is run by Ryan Bates.  He does great job of covering useful topics and doing it succinctly.  Most of the casts are around 5 minutes long, which strikes me as a sweet spot for answering a question in video form without being irritating.  I had about a dozen questions about Rails when I found it; questions that weren’t technical enough to look up in a reference guide.  It’s one thing to search for the syntax for removing whitespace from a string in Ruby (strip, by the way).  It’s another to find something a little higher level, problems you have a technical solution for, but probably not the right one.  Railscasts nails these topics, and nails an awful lot of them.

Kudos, Ryan, and thanks for the help.

The 400 Blows

Continuing my unbroken streak of disappointment in the French New Wave, I sat through François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and had only intellectually nice things to say about it.  It was well shot. It had realistic characters going through honest, believable situations.  But just like with Breathless, I didn’t care.  The genre strikes me as so aggressively distant and plotless that it almost wants you not to connect with it.  I can see how this movement, at the time it came out, influenced filmmakers and lovers of film, especially in a Hollywood dominated by an oppressive studio system.  Even so, I haven’t seen a single French New Wave film that makes me think something other than “I wish I was watching Fellini.”

Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb

Speaking of styles that leave me cold, how about a little Stanley Kubrick? There are certainly Kubrick films I like a lot, but on the whole he’s all brain and no heart through too much of his filmography.  I put this in immediately after The 400 Blows, and I honestly don’t know if I thought I’d follow one potential disappointment with another, but either way what I got was a surprise: I really, really loved Dr. Strangelove.  It was funny and biting and a really good time.  This is the first time I’ve seen Peter Sellers and, based on this film alone, the praise of his comic talents does not seem overblown.  Also, I’ll be making “precious bodily fluids” jokes for weeks.

M.A.S.H

Somehow, despite my love of Robert Altman, I’d managed to never get around to seeing M.A.S.H. Tsk, tsk.  I never saw much of the television series, either, so I went into the movie cold.  Verdict: I can totally see how this movie made the successful translation to a television series.  The movie is broken into a series of episodes as it is, each one connected by little more than the characters themselves. What better compliment can I give a movie than this: I not only did not hate Donald Sutherland in this, I actually liked him.

Dirty Harry

We begin and end with a disappointment.  I guess Dirty Harry is exactly what it tried to be.  It’s a mean spirited, nasty little action film about a cop who can’t be bothered with things like Constitutional rights and due process and is proven correct by the end.  What can you say about a movie in which the hero tortures a suspect after searching his home without a warrant, rages when said suspect is released because of the violation of his rights then seems to suggest that when the killer then continues to kill that it’s the system’s fault, not the rule breaking cop’s?  At least Clint Eastwood is always a good time.

Not that it wasn’t worth it. If you’re a Penguins fan, that is.

And the b-roll