Seeds of the word portal came from Latin, meaning a gate.
The word has grown from that simple definition over the years, so it means not only a gate. A portal can also be a door, a simple opening, or an entryway to anything. Current definitions aren’t limited to hollow openings. In medical definitions especially, the term portal doesn’t mean an airy gateway, rather a location where subtances pass.
Most of the world has been exposed to the idea of a portal from teevee shows or movies. Science fiction has taken the idea of a portal to mean a teleportation device. Within the broad category of sci-fi, there are time portals, space portals, and yes portals in which trash is discarded.
Convenient.
There is a fun offshoot of this idea of a portal being a passageway to somewhere else. It has to do with one of the most popular video games of all time, Portal.
A fantastic puzzle game, it involves traveling from place to place and solving problems while manipulating portals. Despite being a relatively short game, it requires some brainpower to strategically maneuver through the world.
And, let’s not forget, the game was successful enough to spawn a second version: Portal 2.
If the first iteration wasn’t enough, a person could renew the thrill with the next. Like entering another place, through a passageway…or something.
In this article there are potential spoilers. Be warned.
M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense is a movie which can be considered a masterpiece for a variety of reasons. It has all the necessary elements. The movie was initially advertised as a psychological thriller with mystery and suspense added. In each of those categories—thriller, mystery, suspense—there are certain events which need to come to pass. For example, without a question for the audience to answer, there would be no mystery.
The psychological thriller aspect of the film was found in the mind-bending advancement of the plot. An audience watching for the first time would find themselves thrust into a happy marriage nearly cut short, a mother / son relationship which is strained for reasons yet unknown, and what seems like a flashback. A simple clue is injected into the film for the sharper viewers: a patch of grey hair on a troubled man’s head—then again on an otherwise youthful head. The clue is beautifully planted, so the audience is (or, at least, those who notice are) left to wonder what the clue means. Was it the same person? Was it the thing that triggered the flashback in Doctor Crowe’s mind?
Malcolm Crowe is a psychologist who comes home from a night out with his wife. The two don’t immediately notice the signs of a break-in, until—the broken glass, the light on in the bathroom—too late. A much younger man exits their bathroom. In many ways he appears unhinged. He’s thin, undernourished, wearing only briefs, crying, or on the verge of crying. His name is Vincent Gray, but if the name is used, it’s only in passing, as a comment, or a sidenote in the tense conversation. Words flow from Crowe and Gray in doctor / patient fashion, the doctor attempting to make clinical sense of the disturbed young man’s anxious accusations. The doctor never helped this patient. Vincent tells him about it, tells him with words and the horror-filled look on his face. Then Vincent ends the conversation with two bullets: one for Doctor Crowe’s abdomen, and one for his own head.
The audience leaves the scene with the camera aimed at Doctor Crowe. Black blood issues from the wound on his right side. A shot in the liver, the audience might infer, and, of course, knowing the situation is deadly, the audience would be right to ask the question, “Will he survive?”
At this point in the film there should have been several questions rolling through the minds of those in the audience. The immediate one, the one we want answered most, “Will he survive?” is answered right away. Here he is again, looking like a psychologist on a park bench who quietly studies his patients, so it appears he did survive, but then…is this a flashback?
Soon Cole Sear enters the plot and the scene. Here he is with his patch of gray hair, looking like a wary city kid who always watches where he’s going and always checks who might be behind him. He’s a boy. Maybe he never walks. He runs everywhere he goes. Where’s he going? School, where other children call him a freak. Church, where no one else follows. The plot takes a slower turn. The doctor sometimes speaks to Cole. Cole acts like a boy whose mother made him see the doctor. He doesn’t even look Doctor Crowe in the eyes.
Does he want to be helped? If he’s not the same one from the near-death scene, he could be a similar case and the good doctor might only be trying to find more effective treatment than what he used on the failed case of Vincent Gray. Subtly, the question is altered for the attentive audience. No longer, “Will he survive?” but, “Will he help this troubled boy?”
Cole finds the doctor pacing him. Doctor Crowe shows up on the street, in the church, in his apartment, and other places. Cole’s mother, Lynn Sear, pays the doctor little attention. She seems to accept his presence, as if she invited him in the apartment.
Lynn is a devoted mother. She does what she can for her amazing son and with her single parent life. She is somewhat oblivious to her son’s life. He is a scared little boy, and she consoles him at times. At other times, she grows weary of Cole’s odd behavior. She doesn’t know he can SEE DEAD PEOPLE so she lashes out in tired parent fashion. He eventually proves to her, and Doctor Crowe, that he does indeed have the curse and the ability, to see the deceased.
This ability of his, and the reactions of the other characters in the movie to his ability, has an interesting effect on the audience. Repeat views turn the suspense into drama. Once the mystery of Cole’s talent is no longer a mystery, a viewer will tend to see the hopelessness of his plight. The audience can’t convince the other characters of his honesty. Cole doesn’t mean to twist his mother’s view of reality. It’s only a natural consequence of his desire to be real with her, and the audience knows it.
Likewise, the relationship he develops with Doctor Crowe, has more drama than mystery with repeated views of the movie. Malcolm Crowe doesn’t have any less skepticism than Lynn Sear, so his actions can frustrate the audience a little.
There are frightening scenes and gross-out scenes within this movie, but there are no unnecessary scenes and no amateur sloppy-camera. If you were undecided on whether to watch a slasher movie or a suspenseful psychological thriller this Halloween season, just do what Cole Sear does and see some dead people already. See them in The Sixth Sense.
“Opposition in all things,” says Sammy B Lee of the railroad gang.
Or maybe it was some other dude. I don’t remember. Maybe it was that dude I read about in the Bible. What was his name? Luke? Harry? Bilbo? Socrates? One of those.
What are some opposites? Blue and red are opposites… probably. Black and white, or maybe it’s black and yellow. That’s why Batman’s color scheme is black and yellow. So blue and grey were opposites, during the sixties.
English and food are opposites, but it’s a lot easier to choke when you’re reading a poem than when you’re narfing down a glazed donut.
Wood and metal are opposites, but both will technically burn if you get a big enough fire going. What’s opposite of fire? Not water, because I’ve seen water when it’s set on fire. That was a long day.
Lots of things are opposites. Pianos and harpsichords are opposites, and my proof is that my music teacher disagrees with me. Him and I are opposites too.
Ugly and uglier. Bees and spiders. Spaceships and steam-powered dune buggies. Zombies and politicians (or was it zombies and non-politicians?)
My favorite opposite is words and
Rocks and brains are opposites, though that’s hard to prove with all the teenagers that have rocks bouncing around in their skulls. Skulls are opposites with what exactly? Toes. Because it hurts to hit your toe on the ground, and to hit your skull in the air is heavenly. Ground and air are opposites.
There’re so many opposites they’re hard to count. After all, there is “opposition in all things”. According to Sammy Bilbo Lee anyway.
Enough hyperbole, though it does accentuate the point, which is this: not everything has an opposite.
For instance, ask yourself: “What is the opposite of today?”
Some might be tempted to say tomorrow, but then they would probably realize there’s also a yesterday. Can they both be opposites of today? How many opposites can one thing have?
Spiders, as mentioned above, don’t necessarily have an opposite. You can think of a lot more things without opposites, I’m sure.
This is where people sometimes get confused. “Opposition in all things,” doesn’t mean, “Everything has an opposite.”
It does mean, “Life is hard.”
It does mean, “Obstacles or forces will get in your way.”
Opposition is when someone or some thing works against someone else or some thing else. Consider getting out of bed and gravity.
If you’ve never heard the term “earworm”, chances are still high that you’ve encountered an earworm.
The word earworm comes from the Germans, who have a good sense of the difference between pleasant music and noise. Just listen to Einsturzende Neubauten if you don’t believe me. Alright I’m joking, but the Germans do have that national treasure Nena, and of course a friendly band known as the Scorpions. None of these three show up with songs on the list of the world’s worst earworms. Even though Einsturzende Neubauten doesn’t have the most radio-playable music you’ve ever heard, they don’t have anything that stays in your head unwanted either.
One of the qualifications of an earworm is that it refuses to leave your head. You’ve heard the song once, maybe twice, and it keeps replaying through your memory like some kind of cursed echo. Even worse, it’s a personal cursed echo. No one else can hear it. Only you.
Another attribute of an earworm is that it’s unwanted. There are songs in the universe, in the world, and especially in your memory, for which you have no hate-filled aversion. You don’t want to build a time machine, travel back in time, and convince the parents of the songwriter to get an abortion. Why? Because those other songs have pleasant, endearing qualities. In fact, they have quality. You’ll know it when you hear it. Lyrics and melody send you soaring with a pleasant song—they may even set your imagination roaming, inventing, adventuring. With an earworm though, the lyrics probably make you cringe. You certainly don’t want to repeat them, and yet, because of the musical accompaniment, you do repeat them, seemingly endlessly.
Some of you readers, while reading about earworms, possibly thought of a couple of songs you would rather avoid. If you heard these songs playing anywhere, you would remove yourself.
Here, be warned, is a list of songs known widely as the most insidious earworms:
Sweet Child of Mine—Guns and Roses
Ice Ice Baby—Vanilla Ice
Achy Breaky Heart—Billy Ray Cyrus
Barbie Girl—Aqua
Who Let The Dogs Out—Baha Men
Baby—Justin Bieber
Miracles—Insane Clown Posse
Big Yellow Taxi—Counting Crows, Joni Mitchell
Bennie and the Jets—Elton John
Blinded by the Light—Manfred Mann’s Earth Band
Lose Yourself—Eminem
Just Can’t Get Enough—Depeche Mode
Stop!—Erasure
We Built This City—Starship
Low—Flo Rida
Now, if only there was a song proven to cleanse the brain of any earworm, whoever wrote that song would be Doctor, Hero, and Artist of the Century.