Part II of a currently undetermined number

But first: Elizabeth Bear has been really on point in her newsletters lately. “Typing is easy. Telling stories is hard,” definitely gave me some things to think about, as did “Avoidance is a trauma response.” Have to recommend them.

(Plus, gorgeous horse pictures.)

Breaking down a second scene

So let’s return to Dragon Age: Absolution episode one, “A Woman Unseen.” My previous post can be found here.

I’m next going to look at the scene that lasts from the end of the title credits (02:28) to the next major transition (05:50 or thereabouts, where the camera fades to black and pans up on a view of the city from the nearby countryside). There are what I consider four, perhaps five if you want to divide them more narrowly, distinct emotional/thematic/narrative movements within this scene. Let’s list them out:

1. Dolph confronts Miriam and her companion, who we learn is called Roland, over not abiding by his plan (“Stupid blasted knife-ear!”)

2. Fairbanks and Sapphira (aka Hira) interrupt and we get two distinct character introductions through action and dialogue (“I hope we are not interrupting anything.”)

   1. The introduction of Hira as someone focused on Miriam (“Hey, Miri. You kept the scarf.”)

   2. The introduction of Fairbanks as a manipulative employer/client (“You see, I already told the City Guard where to find the missing lyrium.”)

3. Fight scene! Miriam defends Hira and Fairbanks, while Roland looks on, against all the rest of Dolph’s crew (“I will kill every one of you before I let you touch her. I swear it.”)

4. Parting quips. (“Next time, aim a little more to the right.”)

“Stupid blasted knife-ear.”

The first movement of this scene combines worldbuilding with character illumination. The tone with which Dolph’s voice-actor delivers “knife-ear” and the rest of its context reveals it’s a species- or race-related slur directed towards elves. This cues the audience in to the presence of species- or race-based discrimination (against elves) within the world of the story.1 Miriam is the only elf we’ve seen so far, and the only one among Dolph’s crew, which is worth noting.

We also see in this exchange Miriam’s confidence in her decisions, her loyalty to her friend (“It’s me you’re angry with, not Roland,”), the fact that Dolph’s crew respect her (“Half my men seem to think you’re the one in charge here!”) and her willingness to try to de-escalate Dolph’s anger (“You’re still the boss.”).

This is all information that will prove relevant on an ongoing basis. And how it’s delivered, as part of a confrontation, keeps the tension rolling.

“I hope we are not interrupting anything.”

The confrontation isn’t resolved, but instead sustained and redirected to a fraught interruption, the second movement. This is the introduction of two new distinct characters, Fairbanks and Hira. Let’s take Hira first, because this character introduction sets up some themes that will repeat across the next six episodes.

“Hey Miri. You kept the scarf.”

Come on, it’s a perfect setup. I’m as much of a sucker for ex-lovers with lingering feelings reunited! once! more! as the next romantic bisexual sop.

And at first blush, this looks like just such an awkward but touching reunion, full of messy emotions and potential recriminations. Although it’s possible, if you are excessively inclined to ignore queer potential, to read this as close friends who parted badly, let’s be honest: this is Dragon Age.2 Right here in the frame we have the possibility of ex-lovers reconnecting (let’s go lesbians! everyone knows about that tiny dating pool) because at least one of them regrets how they parted.

But we’ve also got a couple of important pieces of character detail: Hira ploughs right through a boundary that Miriam tries to draw, going in for a hug even after Miriam shakes off her hand, and she’s with Fairbanks in setting up a theft to test Miriam’s skills and potentially pressure her into signing on for a longer job.

“You see, I already told the City Guard where to find the missing lyrium.”

Fairbanks’ introduction is doing less layered work than Hira’s or Miriam’s: it’s about the same amount of character work as Roland’s, with a little more exposition. That’s priming the audience to see Miriam and Hira as more complex, and therefore more central, figures to the narrative.

In Fairbanks’ introduction, we get someone who’s maybe Hira’s employer, or maybe her slightly senior partner: someone who has no real fear of Dolph and no real compunction about using the threat of exposure or criminal punishment to recruit Miriam (and Roland, but Roland is clearly a bonus) to his cause. Fairbanks comes across as a bit of a Nate Ford from S01 E01 Leverage character. That is, competent, occasionally charming, and absolutely capable of being a stone-cold bastard. He arranged for the theft of the lyrium as a test of Miriam’s skill, and proceeds to reveal that he’s also told the City Guard where to find it.

This results in Dolph, already angry, ordering his crew to kill the newcomers.

“I will kill every one of you before I let you touch her. I swear it.”

The fight scene that follows the character introductions is a central pivot around which the first act of the episode turns. Not only does it call back to the stylised violence of combat in Dragon Age: Inquisition and Dragon Age II3 (and establishes a similar aesthetic for violence in Absolution), it cements several vitally important things about Miriam.

Foremost among them: she is, despite how they may have parted, still deeply attached to Hira. As evidenced by her threat.4

We can contrast Miriam’s attitude to the “amateurs” of the cold open with her protectiveness of Roland and here, of Hira (and Fairbanks on account of his association with Hira). In this fight sequence, Miriam faces off alone against the rest of Dolph’s crew, having explicitly told Hira and Fairbanks to stay out of it, and defeats them without killing any of them.

Miriam is in complete control of the violence. Not one of her opponents lands a blow: it’s a showcase of her competence, especially as Roland seems content to watch. The viewer can also choose in retrospect from two interpretations of Miriam’s solo, murder-free defence of Fairbanks and Hira: either she’s so intensely protective that she doesn’t want to put the object of her protection at any risk, or that she wants her current opponents to stay alive if possible, and doesn’t trust their survival to Hira and Fairbanks’ restraint.

“Next time, aim a little more to the right.”

The scene’s closing exchange, where Dolph, defeated, attempts to shoot Miriam in the back, gives us Miriam deflecting the crossbow bolt mid-air. Miriam’s rejoinder to Dolph’s attempted murder and Roland’s parting words does a number of things. It adds definition to the tone of the episode, and thus the series (we can count on a sense of humour); it solidifies Miriam’s badassery; and it confirms part of Roland’s characterisation as Miriam’s friend, and someone who follows her lead. As well, of course, as naturally leading in to the cut to a new scene.

The scene as a whole.

If we consider the structural purpose of the scene, it serves to break Miriam (and Roland) out of their pre-existing context and set them started on a new course, one which will presumably occupy at least the rest of the episode, if not the run of the series. It introduces a hint at Miriam’s past, in the form of Hira, and offers three reasons besides curiosity for her to accept the job that Fairbanks is offering: the connection to an attachment from her past (Hira), Dolph’s antagonism, and Fairbanks’ willingness to use the City Guard as a threat. It does a little worldbuilding through dialogue and visual cues. But most of its matter is character detail, setting up and fleshing out these people and their relationships with each other. We’re now a little more than a quarter of the way through the episode’s effective runtime, and we’ve established:

1. The quality of Miriam and Roland’s past associates

2. That Miriam is both a competent thief and an extremely competent fighter

3. That she and Hira have history

4. That Hira’s a bit pushy about boundaries

5. That Fairbanks is willing to use risky pressure tactics to get the outcome he wants

6. That Roland trusts Miriam to have shit handled and absolutely follows her lead

7. That Miriam is very invested in Hira’s well-being

8. That Miriam and Roland are going to need some new friends

We’re less than 1/20th of the way through the series and we’ve already got a lot of information to work with. DA:A is doing efficient work.

I can wander into the weeds if I want to

Bring back the days of Livejournal of yore! Or at least the attitude. I’ve been spending my miniscule leisure time attempting to analyse Dragon Age: Absolution, and I’m going to subject you to a sampling of my efforts.

Before I begin to talk about Dragon Age: Absolution and its excellent narrative and design, I should acknowledge one or two things. I’ve been a fan of Dragon Age ever since I spent the winter holidays of my final year in college alternately mainlining Origins and working on my final year dissertation.1 And: I’ve tried to start watching a lot of television shows since parenthood exploded into my life and remade my habits and the time available for me to consume media. Tried and failed. Most of those shows lost me in the first ten minutes (or, in some cases, the first sixty seconds) when it became clear that they weren’t terribly concerned with a) clarity of purpose2 or b) providing me with interesting things to care about.3

Dragon Age: Absolution makes for a dramatic contrast with many of its live-action competitors. It’s got the kind of artistic competence that makes me want to take it apart to analyse how it works. Displaying competence across multiple domains is difficult.

I’m going to pull apart some of what it’s doing, starting with the first episode. If I continue to have energy, in the future I’ll work my way through the whole season. Spoilers, obviously: what I want to do is break some of it down moment by moment, to see just how it constructs a narrative that had me hooked by the thirty second mark and kept me hooked for its entire run. I also want to see if I can figure out how much of what it’s doing would work in the written word (my first impression: quite a lot) and how much of it works mainly on account of it being visual media (the fight scenes, definitely).

Let’s start with episode one, “A Woman Unseen,” with a total runtime of 25:05. And let’s look specifically at the cold open in the first 01:40 of that runtime: just 100 seconds before the title credits sequence.

We open with an establishing shot (figure 1 above): a city bordering a body of water, foreground a tower, a huge moon dominating the sky. The lower left of the screen reads “Nevarra,” so immediately we know we’re in a specific place. It doesn’t matter that viewers familiar with Dragon Age lore from the games know that Nevarra is a country of which Nevarra City is the capital: the specificity itself is what’s important here. It signifies that the narrative will take place in more than one place, and that the location and nature of those places will be important to the narrative.

The “camera” of the animation closes in on the tower and spirals around it, and not more than twenty seconds have passed before we see three figures scaling its outside on ropes (figure 2 below).

Twenty-five seconds in, we’re focusing on them (figure 3).4

The show has very efficiently established its setting and gestured at its genre inside half a minute of screentime: in a fantasy city, a heist is in progress. Are these our protagonists?

They’re not. The camera pulls back out, now on the city-ward side of the tower (figure 4, above), as a man’s accented voice says, rather judgementally, “Amateurs.” We’re thirty-five seconds in, and “A Woman Unseen” is starting its mini-masterclass in introducing and establishing character.

At a glance, this is a pavement cafe or taverna in the embrasure of a city or harbour wall, a corner where the outjut of a wall creates privacy. (See figure 5, above.) A tall masculine figure leans against stonework with a mug in hand; a smaller more androgynous figure seated opposite, elbows on knees, with a bow and quiver leaning against their chair. The conventions of the fantasy genre tell us that the leaning person is human, while the seated figure is an elf.5 They have a brief dialogue. I’m going to quote it in its entirety, describing its context, because in six or seven short lines it establishes a great deal about these characters, the relationship between them, the world, and their current situation.

Human: “You know I hate to question your decisions, Miriam, but –“

Elf (now revealed to be Miriam): “Do I look like the kind of fool dumb enough to storm a mage tower? They were Dolph’s idea.”

Human: “You mean he wants those idiots and the two of us to fight our way through that entire building, steal a case of lyrium, and fight our way back out again?” Pause. “What’s your plan?”

Miriam throws a sack at her companion. There are garments in the sack.

Miriam: “Bribed the washer-woman. Figured all we really needed were a couple of mage robes and a, you know, a distraction.”

Miriam looses arrows which cut the ropes of the three figures climbing the tower. Their fall draws the attention of the tower’s guards. While the guards are distracted, Miriam and her human companion set out for the front door of the tower.

Human, in a mild observation: “Dolph will be livid.”

Miriam, with a tone like a shrug. “Yeah. Probably.”

Let’s break this apart. The first line of dialogue establishes several things: that these two people are on familiar terms, probably friends; that the human is used to deferring to Miriam’s decisions; and that nonetheless he thinks one of her most recent decisions — in some way related to the “amateurs” scaling the tower — is in fact questionable. That’s a tidy lot of information to convey in ten words.

Miriam’s reply establishes even more, just as quickly. In no particular order:

1. that we’re in a fantasy setting with magic (“mage tower”)

2. that she and her companion are in fact connected to the trio scaling the tower

3. that “storming a mage tower” is something dangerous and idiotic

4. that the decision which her companion finds questionable, she also finds so;

5. that it was someone else’s idea

6. that they both answer to that someone else (“Dolph”), at least in relation to the matter at hand

7. that they’re the kind of people who get involved into breaking into places they aren’t supposed to be.

Her human companion’s response to this outlines the (bad) plan he intuits that Dolph came up with, confirms that they’re involved in order to steal something (lyrium,6 a substance we now know is valuable enough to be worth stealing), and establishes that he expects Miriam to have come up with a different (better) plan.

That (better) plan reveals that Miriam is confident about her skills, accomplished at subterfuge, a talented archer, and willing to be careless with the safety of people she doesn’t consider her responsibility. (The “idiots” who make for her distraction.) The final exchange of dialogue also establishes that Miriam is fairly blasé about the consequences of making Dolph, their probable employer, angry.

And at 01:40 of runtime, 100 seconds, the title credits roll.

Compare, as an exercise for the reader, the first 100 seconds of The Witcher: Blood Origin, a series whose four episodes stack up roughly comparable in total length to DA:A‘s six. There’s a tonne more communicated here compared to there.

I’m not going to treat the entire six episodes of DA:A with this level of detail. That’d be excessive. But the first episode is important for defining the shape of what’s to come, and this cold open sets the frame in which that shape will be drawn. Every one of the details included is there because of a decision on the part of the makers.7 Not every member of the audience will pick up on all of the details consciously, but this cold open makes us aware that we can expect:

• theft

• subterfuge

• competent protagonists

• banter

• character relationships illuminated through said banter

from the rest of the show. And I want to lay out the beginning in detail for when we start talking about the latter half of the series, if we get there, and how the elements that are established in the first episode are reflected and refracted — mirrored or opposed or shown in a new and different light — over the course of the show. Every story’s beginning should contain the seeds of its own ending, after all.

This one certainly does.

Who wants a Part II, in which I discuss the first scene of the true first act, and the introduction of at least one other character who’s pivotal to the narrative, and important to Absolution‘s themes? This poll isn’t binding, but if the nays have it, I may just shuffle any more in this vein over to Patreon.

The last time I sent out a newsletter was April 2022

Well, we’ve made it to 2023. I’m starting the year with a headcold (not, per a home antigen test, the actual plague of our times, but one is forever uncertain) and a toddler who’s learned how to walk and cannot be stopped. Seriously. If I could hook him up to a generator, we’d never need to pay another electricity bill.

I still haven’t figured out how to juggle full-time childcare, half as much sleep as I used to get (because the Unstoppable Menace doesn’t sleep unless someone’s beside him, and even then sleeps very lightly) and, you know, work. We’re working on it, but it’s definitely what you might call a work in progress.

Lot of changes in 2022. Some good, some bad, some yet to be determined. The two new books of the year that I managed to read and recall deeply enjoying are Aliette de Bodard’s The Red Scholar’s Wake and Foz Meadows’ A Strange and Stubborn Endurance. In December, I read a short novel by Drew Sarkis, Schemes of the Wayfarer, which has delightfully onion-like fantasy politics. (Layers of misdirection. Do recommend.)

Most enjoyable television: Dragon Age: Absolution, an animated short series on Netflix. I have a lot I’d like to say about it, which will have to wait, but it is very good at what it’s doing.

Videogame: I finally started playing Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order, and while it’s enjoyable (just enough narrative to be engaging, very pretty, relatively easy-to-remember controls) it’s also annoying. I’ve been spoiled by RPGs with their customisable player-characters (you’ve stuck me with a (very) Young Man here, and honestly, The Youth Of Today), and I find having to re-run a whole section because you can’t save at will really quite frustrating. (I have a toddler. Did I mention that? Let me save anywhere I’m not in actual combat and I might actually be able to finish the damn game this decade.) But it’s pretty and it’s not asking me to make a lot of choices, which is about all I can handle lately.

Plus the Unstoppable Menace likes to look at it sometimes. I think he likes lightsabers.

How’s everyone doing?