I think that makes sequels more interesting. Experiences change people. If I’m going to invest in a series that deals with returning characters, I want a level of believability in the fantasy. I like the comfort of a returning character’s plateau, but sometimes I also want to climb and slide on their troubles.

And if done well, making a character different than their first outing can give you a Sarah Connor.

Ever since the theatrical trailer I’ve said I’m on an Avatar blackout. I’ve snuck in a few videos here and there; I’m incredibly picky, limiting myself to the occasional TV spot and not touching any character/creature/vehicle profiles or even listening to the James Horner score cuz I read somewhere that the music titles are spoiler-tastic. Jake’s Avatar Kills Quaritch By Punching Him in the Chest (Piano version).

Yet there is one video I watched that further reinforces my erection for all things James Cameron. It’s a video I watched carefully – which pretty much means that I skipped the first few minutes when the actors started talking (not that they automatically have nothing interesting to say, I’m just wary they might give away story/character bits I’d rather see for myself) and then praying to Christ I don’t see anything that spoils. It talks about the technology behind the movie; the Volume where the actors perform and the director chooses his shots from wherever angles. And even though Cameron, as usual, praises the technology he had to create to make the film, he always says something that proves why he is more than just a technical director.

“What we were most worried about was this [Cameron frames his face from the eyes to the mouth] because this is where movies live and breathe, in the tight close-up.”

Performances are usually what excite me about a movie, but I never realized how much I’m enamored with close-ups. Quickly going through my favorite movie scenes/shots, the majority are close-ups; Hicks shining the light across the crawl space; Ripley tilting her head and having enough when she meets the Queen; Eli’s final shot in Let The Right One In; Murray and Johansson hugging at the end of Lost in Translation; the T-1000 reshaping its head after the Pescadero elevator doors close.

Only 17 more days till opening day.

I’m having trouble embedding, so here’s the link.

Aliens is a great sequel. It takes the core elements of the first and expands it without trivializing it. You have action scenes where every explosion has a purpose, and you have characters with trajectories – at that level the movie is the relationship between a mother and a child. Ripley starts by going to LV-426 to make sure the aliens are destroyed; she has no intention of killing them herself because her fear overshadows her hate and because she isn’t trained like the colonial marines. She finds a survivor, and from this point on, Newt is her mission. Yes, killing the aliens is still a part of it, but again, she is still relying on the marines. The moment Gorman stutters is the moment Ripley steps up to become one of the greatest action heroes in movie history, the mother of all mothers willing to run into the worst situation imaginable to rescue a child.

And Ripley’s head-tilt when that egg opens, it’s an attitude more badass than the rage that follows. Explosions can be cool, but a well-placed well-expressed character action, that’s what blows me away.

Terminator 2 is the perfect sequel.

Role reversal is the weapon of choice. Sarah Connor becomes protector to John like Kyle Reese was to her, and when she goes after Miles Dyson, she becomes for a moment the killer who “can’t be bargained with, can’t be reasoned with.”

The villain of the first becomes the hero in the second. The Terminator protects John, who teaches it to act more human, and the unforeseen result is it becomes his father-figure.

The premise is outlandish, but the characters’ purposes and emotions respectfully bring it down to our level of understanding and appreciation.

Why can’t video game sequels do the same?

I marathon-watched season one of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. From the start TV John is uncomfortable and more importantly not confident about his future role – one scene in the pilot has him pleading to his mother that he can’t keep this up (“this” being running), that “I don’t believe what people think I am, some messiah.” His introductory scene has him angry at Sarah because they have to relocate again. John gives her more attitude when they start fresh in a hick town, where he further complains about not having “the right clothes” and having to deal with school computers “from the 50′s,” which Sarah berates him for because he might get caught hacking. His response: “jeez, I know the rules, they are like written on the inside of my eyeballs.”

Let’s look at Movie John. We know Sarah was aggressive with him. In the parking lot scene, John tells his Terminator that she kept reminding him that he is going to be “this great military leader;” also, that they spent a lot of time in “Nicaragua and places like that” with “crazy ex-Green Beret” guys. The assumption is that he was scared and scarred, but later on in the scene where he is in the underground weapons depot, he says “I grew up in places like this so I figured this is how people lived,” which he conveys with excitement. Back to the parking lot, John continues his monologue: his mother being busted and him being told “your mother is a psycho, kid, didn’t you know” which he then confides “it’s like everything I was brought up to believe was bullshit. I hated her for that!”

There is no reason for TV John to be whiny and snappy to his mother since he no longer has any reason to doubt her. He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable because he grew up in the gunrunner’s world – and of course, T2 wasn’t a corset period piece. An argument can be made that just because he was around these adrenaline-fuled situations doesn’t mean he accepted them while wearing sunglasses at night. Thing is, in the movie there hardly any scenes where he is helpless in the fetal position; he never has anyone step in front of him to do something he could do himself – again, Sarah raising him to be a great military leader. Though there are things he figures out for himself:

“You can’t just go around killing people!”
“Why?”
“You can’t, ok.”
“Why?”
“Because you just can’t.”

And then:

“This is tactically dangerous. It might anticipate this move.”
“I don’t care, we got to stop her.”
“Killing Dyson might actually prevent the war.”
“I don’t care! Haven’t you learned anything yet, haven’t you figured out why you can’t kill people?”

John Connor is not perfect. He knows from watching his mother what consequences a hothead brings and at the same time he is willing to compromise his cool if his mother is in danger.

A hero with flaws is not enough. Some can argue that after T2, John can take comfort in trying to live a normal life which in turn would give him reasons to be unsure of his messiahness.

But think about it: John can never have a normal life. Yes, torching Cyberdyne could have prevented the war, but nobody knows that. All people know is they are wanted criminals. The Connors won’t know if they were successful until Aug. 29, 1997 so if he is a leader he should fully accept that he is on-call until that date, and even if the date comes and goes without explosions, he should be prepared for the life on the run.

This is his sacrifice.

Sequels for video games haven’t affected me like T2 has. Doesn’t help they are more about refinement of the original’s gameplay instead of continuation of the story. Characterization is important to me, and that is my failing when it comes to gaming. I don’t cross my arms and huff when a game tries to be nothing more than its gameplay, but I will be critical of games that tout its story. The Zelda games never intended to tell anything grander than a simple tale about a boy trying to save the world. Gears of War 2, though, injected itself with a variety of steroids, and while the characters are still insanely thick, their actions and emotions are still limp dick.

My ideal would be to play a game that had T2 values and sensibilities. Thing is, what’s the point of a story where the gameplay contradicts or belittles it? What’s the point in having your hero believe in the value of human life if your hero goes around killing people to advance to the next part of the map?

Does this mean you can’t create a game with this message? Of course not. You just have to be wary of player actions poking holes into your story. Nor am I saying this particular theme is the pedestal. There are other heights games should look to besides the villain crossing the horizontal line to save the world their way. The relationship between two best friends, the relationship between parent and child. The willingness to sacrifice tangible parts for intangible gains. The need to prove a point even if it means you become a pariah.

Because who knows. If games start toying around with mature ideas and infatuations, maybe we can create new gameplay ideas.