I don’t think I am postulating anything profound when I say a major aim of criticism is to evaluate a piece of art in a way that is enlightening (if not slightly edifying), allowing the audience to not only experience a fresh perspective on the value and meaning of that work in question, but also offering them a chance to see what that critic values in meaningful art. A review is as much an assessment on the reviewer who views a work of art as it is a review of the work. Sure, it may be a secondary source to the piece and, by extension, inextricably connected to the thoughts of the artist who created it, but the work of criticism instantly becomes a primary source for that critic who has those thoughts on that artist and art piece. First and foremost, we learn what that critic is thinking when we read criticism, enabling us to get into that person’s mindset (and the better the criticism, the more we want to stay there, or take those thoughts with us).

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[This! Is! Mad Men! recaps the most recent developments of Don Draper and his lovable gang of sleazeball advertisers. In the spirit of the show, the post itself may very well be drunk. And sexist. Apologies ahead of time.]

Oh, Mad Men, how I’ve missed every aspect of your beautiful face, not even excepting the five o’clock shadow and booze-breath and tobacco stains.

AMC must know that we’ve been champing at the bit for more spiritual ruin on Madison Avenue, as they deliver a sixth season premiere guaranteed to sate even the most ravenous of televisional appetites.  The Doorway never relents, using absolutely every second of its two-hour running time to remind us why love the characters. And how is this done, you ask? Why, by thrusting them into the midst of existential crises! Duh!

C’mon, let’s take a look at the last episode of Mad Men!

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Yeah, total rip-off of the Far Cry 3: Blood Dragon premise for the article title. I can’t help it. That game has my tits a-twitter in ways that are normally relegated to the seedier portions of my tumblr dashboard. How are you doing this Monday? I am well, thank you for asking. Here on April the 8, it is going to climb to nearly sixty degrees in my neck of the Empire. That warmed clime is itself enough to make me smile. This is Monday Morning Commute, and herein are the things on my mind this week. Arts, farts, et cetera.

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To smash the face of your enemies is the most grand of human experiences. To drink their blood from the crystal chalice of your superiority is to achieve the pinnacle of Darwinian success. It is with this irrefutable notion in mind that I postulate the following: every fucking video game should have New Game+. Every digi-polygon experience should allow those of us who have rose up through the darkness of a Level 1, Devoid of Equipment birth to return to those who felled us at the beginning of our journey with fury. We deserve to smash their teeth with our litany of new abilities. We deserve it, god fucking dammit. We earned it.

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Welcome back to one of the most exciting and visually-astounding shows on television. The third season of Game of Thrones, based (mostly) on Martin’s third novel in the Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series, A Storm of Swords, began last night on HBO.

The cinematographers on the show have a lot of fun with framing, shot direction and imagery; why shouldn’t we as well?  The film student in me from a decade ago still likes to assert itself, and Thrones is a show worth recapping through its powerful imagery. There are enough recaps on the net doing blow-by-blows, so hopefully, we can dig a little deeper here and tackle things from a different angle.

Let’s do it.

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Remember how last week I was all excited for life? This week is the glorious inversion of such a feeling. A viscous ladling of ennui is rattling around my belly, daring me to frown. There isn’t so much a reason for me to be sad, rather I’m just like “oh hey, I exist.” Eh, what can you do. Some weeks are more thrilling than others. So I turn to you, dare readers, in this newest of Monday Morning Commutes. Tell me what you’re enjoying this week. Inspire me. I beseech thee. And thee. And thee.

Hit the jump for my tepid chocies for the next seven days.

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This is the image Season 2 left us with last year; a horde of White Walkers and wights marching on the Wall.

The third book in Martin’s fantasy saga, A Storm of Swords, opens with this scene. It was moved to the end of the second season of Game of Thrones to up the cliffhanger quotient for a finale, and that was probably a very smart decision judging by its reception.

Before Season 3 kicks off this Sunday on HBO, let me remind us all where we left off, and guide us back with some potent imagery from “Valar Morghulis”.

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Does everyone remember this moment? Explosive, practically living wildfire punctuating the climax of the Clash of Kings. Half of HBO’s budget for season two of Game of Thrones blown in one orgiastic fell swoop.

When I popped the disc for Season 2 in for a replay this month, I realized how much the last two episodes work together as two halves of one finale that complement each other in surprising ways. They couldn’t be two more different episodes from one another.

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Hello everyone.  In today’s Mutual Understanding we’re going to be talking about cartoons.  Specifically Anime.  So strap on your very, very large boots, grab your gigantic sword, open your eyes wide, and hit the jump.

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Sup fuckers. Don your war crest. Paint your face with the blood of those who have fallen before you staves, swords, axes. This is getting real. The following week is filled with enough revelry to burst my little heart. Were I a coward. But I am not such thing. My arteries are thickened from excessive, caffeine-fueled pumping. The next seven days are a gauntlet of awesome that justify this meager little column. Nay, these seven days justify my generally effusive demeanor. This is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the column where we pontificate on the various little objects filling our hurt-holes. The arts, farts, funny books, and video games we are using as a salve to soothe the general burn of existence.

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