Not So Low, After All - Solo, Reviewed

Let's get one thing out of the way: Solo: A Star Wars Story is not a movie that ever needed to be made.

My re-engagement in this universe as a lapsed fan returned to the fold is tenuous at best, buoyed up by a certain degree of cynicism and a Townsendian desire to not be fooled again. I was drawn back by J.J. Abrams kickoff to the new trilogy, impressed by the storytelling bravery displayed in Rogue One and intrigued by the boldness of The Last Jedi. Following this boldness with a nostalgic backstory movie is honestly the very last place I wanted to go.

But I had a great time anyhow!

Ron Howard is like the king of B+ directors. With three decades of directing behind him, he has a number of very good movies under his belt (Rush, Willow, Frost/Nixon) but only one great movie to his name (Apollo 13). Howard has earned a reputation that is less that of a visionary and more of a journeyman who is adept at getting things done.

This is the kind of person it is good to have answer the call when you fire the writers/directors of a multi-million dollar tentpole movie from a beloved franchise mid-way through principal photography. The on-set reports about frictions between the filmmakers and producers, combined with rumours that an acting coach was brought in for the leading man, Alden Ehrenreich, has led to a lot of uncertainty about this film, both in Hollywood, and in theatre lineups:

Combine this with the number of aggrieved fanboys staying away because they don't agree with that casting, or the movie's placement in the canonical timeline and so on, and it is hardly surprising that in a crowded summer movie marketplace, people are hedging their bets a little regarding a Star Wars movie that was once a guarantee of at least decent entertainment.

And that's a shame.

If you are a fan of Star Wars, or space-fantasy movies in general, you could do a lot worse than see this film. It adroitly borrows from the cinematic lexicon of westerns, juvenile-delinquent flicks, caper films, mob movies and war movies like The Dirty Dozen.

I think Harrison Ford is an almost impossibly hard act to follow, but I think Ehrenreich does a fantastic job capturing the balance of insecure swagger and good-hearted cynicism in a manner that is at least a bit reminiscent of his predecessor. And it is certainly evocative of one of the silver screen's most beloved scoundrels.

There is a fantastic cast of supporting characters, some of whom are left behind while the intrigue is still building, and a brilliant backdrop of interplanetary settings and alien faces, many of which were done with practical effects, which I found delightful. Donald Glover's young, suave Lando Calrissian was especially good, particularly when exploring (or even just suggesting) his relationship with his irascible and principled navigator droid, L3-37.

Sure, I have some quibbles about the film, even beyond its intrinsic lack of necessity. Most egregious to me is the fact that this movie almost completely de-mystifies one of pop-culture's most endearing characters, part of whose charm was his unpredictability and mystery. What was he like as a teenager? Check. Who were his parents? Check. How did he meet Chewbacca? Check. How did he meet Lando? Check. What about that Kessel Run? Check.

Pretty much everything ever hinted at three to four decades ago in snippets of dialogue from the original trilogy has been blown out, dusted off, shined up and presented, which feels a bit contradictory to the nature of the character. The movie itself was probably an inevitability, but the comprehensiveness of his unmasking still feels like gratuitous fan service, or perhaps disservice.

In fairness though, Solo also tries to give us a new perspective on the Star Wars universe, a gritty, street-level view with crimes both petty and larcenous, glimpses of the organizations that profit from them, and is also the first Star Wars movie which does not not mention the Jedi or the Force a single time.

I'm the only real Star Wars fan in my household, lapsed or otherwise, and I had a great time at Solo, as did my wife and youngest daughter. It is a solid space adventure movie with a couple of surprises and a handful of well-earned emotional moments as well. Even in a summer as crowded as this one, Solo is a cinematic salvage job that, based on rumors at least, may not look like much on the outside, but still has it where it counts.

G&G XIII Part 2: Fighting, Monsters, Giants, Chases, Escapes

The second half of G&G began on Friday with a rescheduling - Abandon Planet subbing in for 7 Wonders by dint of newness. I sat this one out to set up the afternoon game, but it looked intriguing and I can't wait to try it for myself!

Before the afternoon game, however, we had an appointment at Time Escape for our second go-round at an escape room. This was a good facility: great production values, not a lot of distractions or meaningless scenery, good puzzles and a variety of them. We did pretty well off the hop in our chosen adventure, Spaceship Mysteries, but got a little stymied in the middle. In the end, some fooferaw with the caps lock on the keyboard we were given prevented us from completing within the time limit. We only needed another minute or two tops, so I am scoring that one as a draw, personally.

After returning home and grabbing a bite to eat, we prepared for our first foray into Battletech since G&G VII - but first, we played a game of Timeline to give everyone time to assemble, which Pete won handily.

We were much better prepared this time around than six years previous, having sorted out a semi-controversial rules change, assigning mechs and teams by random draw, and re-implementing the chess clock on my iPad to move things along with a modicum of alacrity. (Without such constraints, you run the risk of a Delta Tango situation, wherein a player holds up the game while they explore six or seven different options for their move, calculating the odds of hitting or being hit in every permutation.) A big thanks to Scotty for introducing the idea of using coloured markers to keep track of movement as well!

We also went with much lighter tonnage this time around (190 tons per side instead of 350), which suited most of us rusty mech pilots very well. By the end of the game we had reacquainted ourselves significantly with the elegance of the mechanics, and I think a heavier tonnage game might be in the cards for a future G&G.

In the present, however, Island Mike, Earl, Jeff and I endured a savage sack-beating  at the hands of Totty, Rob, Pete and Scott. Mike ended up with the 40 ton Whitworth, a not particularly effective mech with a reputation generously described perhaps as "hapless". He ended up isolated on one of the flanks and outmaneuvered then eventually rammed by the far nimbler 30 ton Spider.

A short while later, Earl willfully overheated his Jenner with an astonishing volley of fire, but then cooked off his short-range missile ammo ("Avoid ammo explosion on 5+... (rolls) whoopsie!") before he could follow through on his plan to leap into a nearby lake and cool off.

With two mechs out of action and the other side with only some armour damage to show for our efforts, and Jeff having continued his remarkably bad spell of dice empathy with a failed charge and missed piloting roll, we conceded once we were outnumbered 2:1. Still fun though, and with luck, we will get a couple of games in before G&G XIV!

After dinner came a game that was new to most of us: Captain Sonar. The game is played without a central board, strangely enough.Each team commands a submarine with four stations to man: Captain, First Officer, Sonar and Engineering.

The Captain determines where to move and plots it on a grid. The First Officer then gets to tick a box signifying preparation of one of the boat's systems, like torpedoes, sonar, silent running, etc. The Engineer then ticks off a resource, restricting what can be used until he fulfills the conditions to erase some of it. Then it is the other sub's turn, and when they state their move, our Sonar officer diligently marks it on an acetate overlay, which he can then maneuver around the map and try to determine where they are, while the other team does the same to you.

Earl's descriptor of 'fancy battleship' is not far off, but I love the notion that everyone on a team has something different to do, so no one feels redundant. The game is also very well paced, and our side won two out of three engagements.

Captain Sonar wrapped up early enough that we re-arranged our schedule yet again in order to accommodate a game of Formula Dé with actual stakes -  a magnificent piece of original artwork by Earl's friend Jeff Shyluk! Our Jeff had mounted a poster-sized version on foamcore and donated it as a prize for the race winner. This had necessitated adding Formula Dé back on the schedule after a proposed absence this year.

I am always up for a game of FD though; I love the mechanics and am still very happy with the tiny models I painted for the game five years ago. Island Mike came out strong and held the lead for most of the race, but I finally managed to pass him in a higher gear on the second lap and eked out a win.

I'm so deliriously happy with the artwork, I don't care that I don't have any wall space for it; I will make something happen! Worth staying up a little late for, by any measure.

The next morning got off to a predictably (and agreeable) slow start, after which we spent an unprecedented two hours arranging our group photos, as posted previously. Despite the immense amount of time committed to this, everyone had something to contribute, and it felt as much a collaborative effort as the escape room, if not more. I will share the final product with my final thoughts in a future post.

Over lunch, Earl and I set up our most ambitious surprise scenario for Star Fleet Battles to date. When everyone had arrived, Earl read a Captain's log he had prepared, wherein the Federation were defending a planet and its moon from Klingons in a pitched battle we joined in progress. This also explained why the ships were all starting with some degree of damage.

Earl's log ended with his flagship, the U.S.S. Excalibur, disappearing in a blinding flash of light as her reactor went critical, and I took over the narrative.

I explained how the Klingons began cheering until their own commander (on my battlecruiser, the Vengeance), told them that humans and Klingons now faced a common enemy, and we revealed (with considerable flourish and glee) the dreaded Planet Killer, from the classic original series episode The Doomsday Machine.

This was greeted with no small degree of shock and/or awe from most of the players, which was wholly gratifying.

I had some good, purple prose after that from the Klingon commander, about how they must now put aside their quarrel with the Federation lapdogs, and sell their lives dearly to prevent this new threat from destroying the next system in line, a Klingon outpost. It was then I removed my ship in the same fashion as Earl's and replaced it with...a SECOND, EVEN LARGER Planet Killer!

Unfortunately for Earl and I, our full marks for presentation (including the dramatic unveiling of the "I Uncloak Now" t-shirt I had drunkenly ordered and forgotten about at last year's festivities) came at the expense of game balance and scenario design.

The carbon units quickly drew their ranks together and attacked Earl's Planet Killer (codenamed Shiva) en masse, and despite his grievously wounding a couple of their ships, they were all still flying when the last of his power was spent.

I made my best speed toward the planet, hoping to at least garner a draw for our apocalyptic weapons, but they fell upon codename: Galactus like a pack of Klingon bloodwolves interbred with Terran... wolf-wolves. (With the exception of Jeff's D7, crippled by his seeming inability to roll a 4+ on three consecutive turns...again.)

Soon, my PK was also a drifting hulk, having neither destroyed a ship nor damaged its target.

Despite this though, a great time was had by all, with the narrative element transcending the tactical by a fair chalk. The reaction to our reveal echoed late into the night, showing itself in one of the Tee K.O. shirts:

After supper, it was time at last for perhaps the most highly contested event of all G&G: Circvs Maximvs!

As defending champion, I didn't make a very good show of it. I tried to play a bit more aggressively for a change, which didn't really pan out for me. I also misread my position at one point and took a corner at a blisteringly fast 9 over, which by all rights should have flipped me, but I came out of the corner butter-side-up and merely jostled, impeding my control and speed marginally.

Which made it even more painful when I flipped my chariot on a subsequent corner I took at a far saner speed.  My driver managed to escape with his life, however, clambering over the wall of the raceway.

Jeff, on the other hand, was once again thwarted by dice. After several missed rolls both to attack and to exert more speed from his nags, he finally caught up to Pete, who had been in the lead since the first corner. Here was his chance to maim one of Pete's horses, giving all of us a chance to narrow the gap, and all he had to do was roll higher than a 4.

As he shook the dice in his hand, Pete cried, without malice, feeling his opponent was truly due, "And none of that regular snake-eyes shit Jeff!"

Upon which Jeff dutifully rolled a two.

You can see Jeff dejectedly down the the hall, but I think our reactions say it all.

There was some cursing, a throwing of dice, and an understandably justified stompy trip down the hallway, but Jeff is a game fish after all, and returned, gamely. Another dice travesty occurred later, effectively excising Jeff's chariot from the game. Pete ended up running away with the victory, followed by Scotty and Totty.

There was just enough time afterwards to play a round of Tee K.O.before Earl finally gave in to the double pneumonia that had dogged him all week, but at least he got to see someone commemorate one element of G&G XIII in t-shirt form to preserve the infamy even longer:

G&G XIII Part 1: X's and OH!s, Broadswords and Blocks

Schedule creep has been on ongoing issue at Gaming & Guinness for years now, but it is not entirely clear if it is a positive or negative one. The first G&G back in 2006 only ran from Friday to Sunday I believe (it predates our use of an organizational spreadsheet and I am unable to find any corroborating emails).

Then I suggested scheduling the big Warhammer 40,000 game that was once the lynchpin of the event on Thursday, so that people disinterested in it could either stay at work, or play something else simultaneously. Then we could return to full-party gaming later Thursday or first thing Friday.

This year, I arrived at G&G XIII just before 1:00 on the Wednesday...and I was the fifth person to arrive.

Rob's flight from Ottawa had come in early that morning, necessitating his presence as well as that of Totty, the host. Pete and Jeff were there as well, and once Earl arrived we wasted  no time getting a couple of games in before Island Mike arrived around 5:00.

I had brought along Trivial Pursuit Edge, which no only contains slightly racier questions that usual, but also requires wrong answers to be punished by stamping the erroneous player with a big black x on their forehead (or hand, for those with skin concerns). You don't play to win so much as to not lose; the first player to get 5 Xs ends the game. It was a hard fought competition, with a number of good answers and skilled guesses for pretty much everyone, but eventually the Xs caught up with Pete.

We also got in a 5-player game of Mountains of Madness, that number meaning that everyone started with a madness card, making things chaotic right off the hop. Scoot and then Island Mike showed up midway through, and their bewilderment at watching players hoot and squawk, run away from or around the table while trying to play only added to the experience. It was a very entertaining time, despite being vanquished by the mountain. I am confident we shall return, however!

Then another mystery appeared, Scott's wife had given him a mystery package to be opened once everyone was in attendance. The game, Magic Mall is pretty intriguing; a turnless cooperative game where each player can do 1-2 specific things (move left, go up escalator, etc), but they are not allowed to share their plans with each other, and can only communicate by tapping the "Do Something" icon in front of another player.

After being thwarted by mall security officials, we ordered up some pizza and Chinese food and then deployed JenG&Ga, an oversized variation of the children's classic with party rules bolted onto it. We raised a much more impressive structure than last year, but ultimately I was the one to topple it, giving the first real victory of the weekend to Earl.

The last big game of the evening was the return of Arena of Death (a.k.a. Vintage Miniatures Deathmatch), wherein old D&D models battle each other and the vanquished figures are banished from the game forever. Sadly, I had somehow misplaced last year's champion Bob O'Riley, the nimble unarmored archer Island Mike had dominated much of last year's match with. Another figure was substituted, but too many other players had a score to settle with the bowman, and he quickly succumbed to a hail of blows.

In the end, my tonsured cleric figure, Brother Cadbury, stood toe-to-toe with Earl's evasive knight, Stovion the Flamboyant, and emerged victorious.

Island Mike then introduced us to a new sci-fi card game, Not Alone. In this game, one player is an alien hunting the other human players around the wreckage of a spaceship. It essentially a clever game of hide and go seek with knobs on, but the simple gameplay conceals a cunning array of options for both players. Despite being successfully preyed upon by Mike's hunter, we all had a good time.

A couple of other smaller games preceded our stumbling off to bed after midnight, including a Cthulhu-based trump game Pete brought called Pocket Madness which boasts tremendous artwork. Getting to bed before 2:00 a.m. felt like its own kind of victory, however.

Thursday morning we kicked things off with a game of Bang! The Dice Game. A fast-moving 8-player game that sets the Sheriff and his Deputy(ies) against Outlaws and a Renegade(s). Only the Sheriff's role is known, all the rest get deduced as you shoot randomly at one another and see what develops. Despite Island Mike's best efforts to kill his secret deputy, the two of us managed to dispatch all the bad guys and secure a victory for law and order (of a type, anyhow).

Once everyone was set up, Rob broke out his questions for a big game of Wits & Wagers, a combination trivia/betting game that has been a hit since Island Mike introduced us to it at G&G X. I managed to parlay my knowledge of how many time zones Russia has (11!) into a tidy sum and ended up winning.

Somewhere around this time, Pete got into the kitchen and deployed mass quantities of the Porchcrawler, a beer/vodka/lemonade cocktail that is dreaded and celebrated in equal measure. Cold, tart, and refreshing, at 8% abv this deceptively smooth beverage is not a drink intended for 24 oz. mugs.

And yet...

After lunch, it was time to play one of the largest and most complicated boardgames we have going: Fortune & Glory, the 1930s Cliffhanger Gamer. It's a game that is both ambitious and gorgeous, even more so now that Earl has painted all of the 100+ pieces that come with the game. There are a number of different ways to play F&G, but we elected on two teams of 4 jockeying in races for various mystic artifacts across the globe while simultaneously battling the growing Nazi menace.

Jeff and Pete had the most abominable luck trying to make their way through the jungles of South America, failing to roll a 4+ on a d6 for God-knows-HOW-many consecutive turns. (Tragically, this was only the beginning of Jeff's torment at the hands of these innocuous looking cubes.)

In the end, Scott, Island Mike, Earl and Rob managed to secure the victories they needed. At least the Nazis didn't win, something we have come perilously close to on previous occasions!

After supper, we trotted out Earl's Limited Edition of The Thing: Infection at Outpost 31. I was so wrapped up in the game I neglected to take any pictures, and while the additional pieces didn't add a whole lot to the gameplay,.they brought to mind even more drama from the film that inspired the game. Once again, my crewmember, Fuchs, was assimilated after the first area was cleared, and I turned from helping the team to subtly monkey-wrenching the missions I was called upon to participate in. Oh, and accusing other players of being alien replacements.

Soon enough, the base lay in ruins and it was revealed that Scott, Island Mike and myself were the aliens, and a new catchphrase entered our lexicon for the remainder of the weekend: "That's just the kind of thing an alien would say."

G&G XIII: Shoot Your Cuffs

The very first Gaming & Guinness group photo, from G&G II in Qualicum Beach, was almost an afterthought. 

The inaugural event had been cobbled together with very short notice - less than a month in fact - and the whole thing had a very loose, almost haphazard feel to it. The whole shebang came together in less than a month, as I remember it, and I was ironing transfers onto t-shirts in a makeshift sweatshop with my girls the night before the out-of-towners arrived. 

But the gathering was a success, and before it was even over, Island Mike had said, "Next year, my place." It was not a question.

And so it was that two of us flew and three of us drove out to Vancouver Island in March of 2007 to drink beers, play games, share meals, stay up too late and laugh uproariously while doing so. At some point during the proceedings we deployed a camera and tripod for a quick self-timer group photo of us in front of the Warhammer 40,000 table.

Yeah, yeah, we get it: the years have left their mark. Well, except for Rob, obvsly.

We've grabbed a group photo pretty much every year since, but about a decade in, we became bored with the familiar, mediocre, team photo shot, and began to experiment with slightly more creative staging, culminating in last year's excellent jersey-alley composition:

Framed copies of this pic with signed mattes were part of this year's swag!

Having unleashed the beast now, I suppose it is not altogether surprising that this year's photo took about two hours to rig up and shoot, although you probably wouldn't know it to look at it.

This is not really the final product either, but a good example to share in the meantime. The actual photo is trying to evoke a candid, late-night, 'crypto-nerd lounge' vibe, requiring a lot of men to dress up who do not do so on a regular basis a number of whom are both contented and comforted in that fact. Their commitment, however, to the loosely articulated idea I shared in an email a few months ago was pronounced enough that they were willing to squeeze into old suits, jackets and ties and allow themselves to be posed like enormous mannequins and shot and flashed (oo, that sounds saucier than it probably needs to) for the better part of an hour.

And this posing only took place after we had spent another hour or so dressing the set, moving and remounting decorations, creating props and gags that are far too small or subtle to be spotted on the screen of a mobile device, where I imagine most people will see them. (For example, that martini glass doesn't have an olive, but the 30-sided dice from Formula Dé (which can also be seen in the brilliant poster in the background, commissioned for this event)).

But pictures are a key part of memory, and every time I look at the one we spent a lot of time on, I am going to remember not only a brilliant weekend and the games we played, but the camaraderie we shared, and everything we did to get to this point. 

• Moving a heavy table to three different positions before finally settling on one.
• Printing out and cutting out a paper chessboard because it turned out there was none to be had in the house.
• Calculating the proper amount of used and empty glassware to convey conviviality without suggesting full-blown alcohol dependency or abuse.
• Lending a nerdy tie to a brother disappointed in his lack of thematic neckwear.
• Experimenting with the volumetric capacity of a variety of glassware in order to support a number of dice-based gags.
• Meticulously lining up a number of characterful bottles along the countertop, only to completely eclipse them with five sturdy blokes.
• Most importantly, the brainstorming, collaboration and idea sharing that saw everyone contribute something to a creatively staged photo.

Best of all, we came away with 2-3 other non-boring photo ideas which will take far less labour to execute, so we should be good now until G&G XVI or so. But I'm really looking forward to the one Earl is finishing up; it will be a special memento of a special time, spent with extraordinary men who share a phenomenal commitment to fun and fellowship.

Is it an exceptional event, or an event made exceptional by those who attend it? Truly, a koan worthy of a Zen master. Either way, even this photo captures a surprising amount of it.

Second Verse, with a Twist - Deadpool 2 Reviewed

Glory and I took in Deadpool 2 Saturday afternoon, and had a good time. Not a great time, and not a grand old time, but we were solidly entertained. It's not as clever as the first one, and wallows in its own pathos for a bit too long, but by the time the second act comes along, it begins to find its stride and even pulls a couple of surprises.

The fist Deadpool was nothing but surprising:an R-rated, foul-mouthed, amoral anti-hero with a penchant for breaking the 4th wall? Unheard of! So, in a lot of ways, the sequel has only themselves to blame for the high expectations fans were going to have. But that's okay, we can give a little latitude to a sequel, if it gives us a lot of what we came looking for, along with some twists.

The first twist, the aforementioned pathos, which I shall not spoil, does make it difficult to return to the manic action comedy side of things, but, you know, kudos for going there, I suppose? It's pretty hard to revisit the level of shock provoked by the first one, so this was one way to attempt doing so.

The second twist: integrating DP into a team, twice. After his time as an X-Man (trainee) goes about how you might expect, Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds) find himself at his lowest ebb. But in the second act, he and Weasel (T.J. Miller) hold auditions for a "super-duper team" and come up with an approximation of Marvel's X-Force, drawn (largely)from the comics in order to protect an adolescent mutant named Russell (Julian Dennison, from Taika Waititi's Hunt for the Wilderpeople).

The reason Russell needs protection is because time-travelling, mega-gun toting, cyber-armed badass Cable (Josh Brolin, in his second role as a big-budget comics heavy this month!) is after him because of terrible acts he commits in the future.

Now, this is where it gets clever: I don't know if I have ever read a single comic with Cable in it, despite being a massive X-Men fan, but even I know that these two end up going buddy-cop at some point, and have shared a few titles in their day. But they wisely discard a lot of Cable's more convoluted backstory, and make their seemingly inevitable team-up feel very tenuous for most of the movie, which was kind of cool.

Zazie Beetz is also a standout as Domino, a kick-ass, smart-ass mutant who can spar verbally with the star, and whose superpower revolves around being 'lucky'. This is portrayed very cleverly by new director David Leitch (John Wick, Atomic Blonde) despite Deadpool's audible contrariness stating this is not actually a power, and even if it is, it wouldn't be very cinematic (which: it is, and it is, respectively).

The marketing team at Fox should also be congratulated for bringing in a big X-Men villain as the surprising true villain of the piece, even if their animation seemed a little rough so soon after leaving us entranced by Thanos in Infinity War.

Probably most importantly though, is the fan service, and its not just for comics fans either. Movie buffs will get a kick out of Wilson's comparison to the second biggest February-opener (up until Black Panther) which is a deep cut. They run just as deep for comic nerds though, as when the titular character wagers that Domino's uneffective, non-cinematic power was probably invented by someone who can't draw feet, and you can almost feel Rob Liefield wincing. There are some A-level cameos as well, including a couple I missed.

And I think I can say without fear of contradiction that the post credits scene is one of the best in recent memory.

In short, if you liked the first one, you will like this one too.It is like the original, only even more so in some places. The shy, sensitive or profanity-offended should probably give this one a wide berth, which is like a red carpet being rolled out for fans like myself.

Foggy Mountain Communication Breakdown Madness

Communication breakdown

It's always the same

I'm having a nervous breakdown

Drive me insane!

- "Communication Breakdown" by Led Zeppelin

One of the cool gifts I received for my birthday was the Mountains of Madness boardgame, by Rob Daviau (Risk 2210, Risk Legacy, Seafall). It's a co-operative game based on a Cthulhuverse novella by H.P. Lovecraft, in which an Antarctic expedition in 1931 encounters strange creatures and disorienting phenomenon before discovering ruins from an ancient and malevolent prehuman civilization, the knowledge of which begins to drive the party insane. (My apologies if you thought this post was going to be about some kind of Earl Scruggs/Jimmy Page mashup.)

I've never come across a Lovecraft-inspired game that didn't reference sanity (or its lack thereof) in some fashion. In many games (Cthulhu Dice, for instance) it is effectively treated like currency. In role-playing games, it is another form of health, similar to hit points, but which players are encouraged to act out. Mountains of Madness is the first game I've played where sanity/insanity is not simply treated as a score, but has increasingly chaotic and entertaining impacts on the game as it progresses.

Each turn, 3-5 players make their way up and across the mountain, from the Coast, to the slopes of the Mountain itself, through the ancient City and eventually, to the Edge of Madness itself. 

Each space contains a tile which, when flipped over, tells the players the requirements for passing that tile's challenge, as well as the reward for success: a relic, an arcane weapon, or perhaps a chance to heal or refresh the party. The challenges start out as numeric ranges in a number of categories, e.g. 7-10 in Weapons plus 9-12 in Books. Players then have only 30 seconds to discuss how they are going to share the numbered equipment cards they have in order to meet those goals. They are not permitted to discuss their hands outside of this 30 second window.

This would be challenging enough on its own, but inevitably (and right from the start in a 5-player game), madness begins to take its toll.

Madness cards compel the player to act in a specifically peculiar fashion, but only during the Encounter Phase, while the timer is going. The rest of the time they have to pretend that they have no recollection of acting peculiarly. You can't ask questions to clarify what someone else's deal is, or try to come up with a workaround. You simply have to do the best you can before time runs out.

Glory was the first to succumb, and Fenya found it a bit disorienting when her sister started stroking her face while she was trying to determine how many crate cards she might be able to contribute to the cause. A few turns later, Fenya began scratching her head frantically during the Encounter Phase, which was not only distracting, but also impeded her ability to handle her cards effectively.

There are three levels of madness cards, and higher levels replace the lower ones (thank goodness!), but when I got to level 2's 'Dashing' card, I not only had to hold a finger to my lip like an ersatz mustache, but I wouldn't communicate with anyone who was not doing the same! Thankfully Glory caught on fairly quickly, but Fenya found it hard to remember this once she became 'tired', and had to spend the entire Encounter Phase seated on the floor.

We enjoyed tremendous success on the Coast portion of the board, but things quickly came apart on the Mountain portion, as we dealt with increasing levels of madness, and had challenges that no longer permitted a numeric range, but a specific value or values; instead of 9-12 Tools, you might need 13 or 15 (but not 14).

The relics we acquired also made things more complicated. In addition to increasing our madness (yes, that's right: every single item you get that you require in order to win the game makes you a little crazier), some of them introduced other restrictions. Soon certain players couldn't cash in Leadership tokens in order to get another 30 seconds on the timer, or take a re-roll on the penalty dice. When Fenya was party leader, she was required to discard the lowest value Crate submitted for the challenge, necessitating an additional, low value Crate card be submitted on her turn.

On the other hand, Arcane Equipment we found, like the Elder Sign (Weapon 10) and Necronomicon (Book 10), had very high values which made it easier to reach some of the harder goals as we approached the summit. Except, you know, when it made it harder to stick the landing on a specific number.

In the end, our attempt to take the 4 relics we had collected and power through to the Escape tiles left us too injured to win, but at least we made it back. More importantly, we had a wonderful time trying to meet our challenges while overcoming the limitations imposed by our lack of sanity.

Which, now that I think of it, is not just an apt description of family game night, but family life in general.

We will definitely be returning to this Mountain of Madness again, and even though it can only accommodate 5 players, I dearly hope this gets played at G&G XIII later this month. Not too many boardgames have this much potential for spectator entertainment, especially when the game comes with some blank Madness cards so you can create your own bizarre behaviors.

Dis/Closure and Sudden Departures

As the years went by, we drifted apart 

When I heard that he was gone 

I felt a shadow cross my heart 

But he's nobody's

Hero - is the voice of reason 

Against the howling mob 

Hero - feels the pride of purpose 

In the unrewarding job 

-Nobody's Hero, Rush

They let my rabbi go on Tuesday.

Rabbi is a term I picked up from David Simon's brilliant tv series The Wire. Baltimore Police officers in that program used the term to describe superiors in the department who had taken an interest in their careers, acting as mentors, advocates, interveners or coaches as the situation dictated.

My rabbi mentored a number of people in my workplace, and was renowned as one of the better 'people managers' in the organization. When the last org chart shuffle left him without anyone reporting directly to him, many of us wondered what the future might hold, but he ended up shepherding a major strategic plan for over a year. The plan involved interviews, an all-hands offsite workshop, and unprecedented collaboration across all levels of the company. It was a pleasure to work on, honestly, and those sentiments were echoed by many others.

But that project wrapped up earlier this year, and on Tuesday we found out he had been let go, along with two other mid-level executives.

Well wishes were disbursed appropriately, and an explanatory email from the boss made it crystal clear that this was not a reflection on anyone's work, but, rather, an existential need to move the organization in a new direction.

True or not though, all I could think of after finding out was what an ignominious end it was for someone who had been so instrumental in moving us to our current culture.

It reminded me of when I had left GW a decade ago; after the initial shock of being told I was leaving the company I had served for over a decade (and moved across the country for on two occasions) had worn off, I believed it was probably for the best. My biggest lament was not being able to attend the big staff conference and tournament being held down east that same week in order to say goodbye.

I'd asked about attending as a guest, and my boss and the HR manager who had accompanied him sifted uncomfortably and said that it wouldn't be possible. And I get it; even with the best of intentions, who's to say I wouldn't let my emotions overcome my better nature once I was actually there, saying goodbye for the last time, confronted with the finality and perceived judgement of it, and undoubtedly socially lubricated by comrades wanting to buy me a drink? No right-thinking leader is going to greenlight a scenario with so many potential sticking points.

But to this day, I deeply regret not being permitted that opportunity for closure. And now I am on the other side of it as my rabbi is forced, without warning or preamble, to wholly reconsider his place in the workforce.

Those of us left behind, colleagues, mentees, beneficiaries of the rabbi's wisdom and insight, have discussed it in hushed terms, and while none of us are particularly shocked, we are all surprised and saddened. It is universally accepted that the suddenness of his departure is discreditable, and reflects poorly upon the organization.

But no one has a reasonable alternative.

I read about some workplaces, in certain situations, giving soon-to-be-ex employees a future end date for their employment. If agreed upon, both parties would have the right to terminate the agreement if certain conditions weren't met by either party, e.g. "Two people have told us about how you made them uncomfortable by either talking smack about your bosses or pressuring them to join your multi-level marketing opportunity, so we are rescinding 1 week of the severance pay in your package and letting you go today instead of next Friday."

I'm sure just coming up with a suitable arrangement would be hellaciously difficult in most situations, to say nothing about how to enforce it, and the challenge of keeping things agreeable until the day of departure. It does create an environment slightly more conducive for closure though, which is something the human element on both sides of this equation will crave.

It's not unlike a death, I suppose. Despite the fact that no one involved is permanently beyond the veil or out of reach, the sudden and dramatic change in the workplace and relationships that have grown out of it are significantly impacted. The outplaced individual has to undergo a sudden and unpleasant reevaluation of their abilities, their goals, and their very selves, while those still in the workplace have cause to question the loyalty of their organization and the very real possibility that their own departure may play out in a similar fashion. Depending on the specific circumstances, a chance to say goodbye might not even help, but on the whole, what would you prefer for yourself?

There is a story about a family that owned a pair of dogs, and when one became ill and had to be put down, the other dog was acting out of character and upset, displaying bad behavior. This continued until the vet advised bringing her in to see the body of their other pet. They did this, and the surviving animal sniffed the body of her counterpart and satisfied herself as to his fate. Afterwards, there was a discernible period of sadness, but a notable improvement afterwards.

If even a simple animal benefits from this manner of closure, why would we deny it to ourselves, even in something as impermanent as a workplace dismissal?

I recognize there are no simple solutions, but I encourage everyone reading this to talk it up with their workplace superiors and HR people; maybe together we can put together a better alternative to sudden emails wishing a suddenly-former colleague all the best in their future endeavours.

In the meantime though, my workplace is now without a gifted individual deeply committed to the well-being of not only the organization, but the individuals who make it up. Days later, I still have to remind myself that I can't ask my rabbi a certain question, or share a certain insight, because he is no longer there because of the shifting vicissitudes of corporate life, and at this particular moment, I find that intrinsically crappy and unfair.

I am confident the rabbi will end up all right, in the same way I know that a person I see taking a painful fall is probably going to walk away from it, albeit with a limp, but that knowledge doesn't make it any more pleasant to witness.

Good luck Rabbi, and thanks for everything. You leave a lot of grateful folk in your wake who are better people now than when they met you. Please remember that despite the way things have played out, there are countless instances in which you are somebody's hero.