I get the impression that there is too much subjectivity regarding "pandering" for there to be meaningful debate over its intrinsic harm or value. This is evident whenever someone says so-and-so work panders to its audience, only to have a fan pop up immediately to rubbish the opinion.
Latest example:
Quote:
Originally Posted by 0utf0xZer0
You honestly expect me to believe that the director of Penguin Drum isn't playing to what people liked about Utena? Try watching it in the right group of people - it'll be a riot just because everyone will be so giddy.
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Swiftly countered by:
Quote:
Originally Posted by Triple_R
No, not at all. Penguin Drum is otaku centric. It's also extremely good so far. I'm just saying that this one specific sequence (the "Survival Strategy" one) is just trying to be entertaining in a general sense.
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The list could go on. Try convincing me that
Anohana wasn't a J-drama/K-drama in anime form, applying every single soppy sentimental trope you can think of to hook its audience — I'll never budge. It's been a long time since I watched anything that made me squirm in my seat as much as that show did. But the series worked brilliantly for people who love such stories. If that's not pandering, I don't know what is.
I suppose you could say I'm unreasonably biased against
Anohana and therefore should not bother to review it. Even so, it doesn't make my opinion on its quality any less valid, as I could point out the various instances of the show I
felt to be examples of sloppy, lazy writing. Naturally, if you loved those aspects of the series, you'd never agree with me. So what then? We can agree only to disagree; one man's meat is another man's poison, and so on.
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With regard to originality, I have a different take on it, something I've been mulling over for a while. I recently told a member of this forum that I actually find writing an extremely painful process, a confession that surprised her because it often seems as though words flow very easily for me.
If only it were so. It takes far more than a great vocabulary and a strong command of language to be an effective writer. The craft of writing can be mastered with practice, but the
art of writing is another matter altogether.
Writing is, to me, an extremely personal affair. An effective writer has to be able to draw upon personal experience to craft his story, and to be courageous enough to present his views on a subject, however biased, as frankly as possible. Make no mistake, a good story takes something out of its creator, exposing aspects of his character and personality — the good, bad and the ugly — for all to see.
In short, an original story is an
honest story. It's an expression of the writer's soul. The story in itself may be a rehash of many popular ideas, or maybe an adaptation of an older tale — after all, there's nothing new under the sun; every idea you can think of has likely appeared before, and possibly in a better form — but the insights and feelings that are the author's own, those are unique in the same way that every person is different, filled with quirks and idiosyncrasies that are his and his alone.
Every story is a conversation between a reader and a writer. A good story, then, is one that offers a window into the writer's psyche. And
that, to me, is where originality comes from.
Ironically, such a writer would be pandering to nothing else other than his own vanity.
It's got nothing to do with quality. You could write an honest tale and still have it turn out horribly mangled, for the simple lack of ability to find the words to match your intentions. That's what editors, reviewers and good friends are for: they provide the critique that helps you develop as a creator.
In the meantime, deadlines have to be met and bills have to be paid. Inevitably, every creator takes shortcuts, falling back on proven techniques and formulas to submit an acceptable, if not brilliant, draft. Is it any wonder then that "originality" is rare? It's a luxury that few writers can afford.
But that doesn't mean I should be any more forgiving in my criticism of their work. After all, I am my own worst critic — if I'm sometimes harsh on others, it's because I'm even harder on myself. Hence, the pain of writing, of creation.