Thoughts: Circus Afro; or Madagascar 3's Genius Marketing

Yeah, you've seen this.  You've seen this fucking commercial, or at least this fucking clip.  And if you're anything like me, you fucking hate it so fucking much.

But here's the thing: people hated it so much that they began to love it.  It became a weaponized joke.  You'd start singing it or you'd post the picture of it, and everyone would rage at you because you got that fucking song stuck in their head and couldn't get it out.  It became a new Rickroll, and arguably a better Rickroll.

The Circus Afro dance is annoying, it is narmy, and--worst of all--it is catchy.  That is exactly what gives it so much potential for a meme.  And a meme it became!  A meme that, as part of a frequently aired commercial, became prevalent that even the people who don't know anything about memes can and will recognize it.

Madagascar 3 looks stupid.  It looks so incredibly stupid.  It's a type of movie that most people will look at and say "does there really need to be another Madagascar movie?"  It looks objectively bad.  And yet, the commercial manages to weaponize that badness.  The entire Circus Afro sequence, like I said, had potential to become a meme.  And that's exactly what the team marketing Madagascar 3 intended to happen.  They knew they had a pile of shit on their hands, and they knew that they could capitalize on it somehow.

You see, we live in an age where ironic enjoyment of things goes beyond a joke.  People will watch something bad for the sake of watching something bad.  That's what shock films like The Human Centipede and films full of bile like The Room are for.  If The Room wasn't so famous for how bad it was, would you even consider seeing it?  No.  But right now, there are people who are looking at this clip and thinking "Wow.  Madagascar 3 looks terrible.  I want to watch it so that I can laugh about just how terrible it is with people."

Yes, folks.  The marketing team at Madagascar 3 is selling their movie on the entire premise that it is bad.  The Circus Afro dance is an incredibly stupid trainwreck that makes you think "how could Chris Rock have fallen to this level?" and then makes you curious enough to entertain the possibility of actually going to see how far Chris Rock has fallen.  The catchiness ensures that you remember it and don't just simply wave the commercial off.

Madagascar 3 set out to sell a bad movie on the premise that it is bad by creating a meme.  And some of us will fall for it.  Some of us will actually go and watch Madagascar 3 for the Circus Afro, just like some of us watched Death Note for the potato chip scene or played Portal because of the cake and Companion Cube.  That, my friends, is genius marketing.  I applaud whoever made Madagascar 3's trailer.  You, sir(s) and/or madam(s), are brilliant.  I applaud you, but I will not fall for your wily ploy.

Project: A Terrible Fate

I know what you're thinking, considering that I write about the Slender Man and I'm a fan of that BEN Drowned creepypasta.  But no, this isn't another horror work.  It IS another Zelda work.

A Terrible Fate is a blog where I'm going to be posting a series of academic articles about Majora's Mask.  Think of it as a dissertation on Majora's Mask that isn't really a dissertation.  A pseudodissertation.  That's what we'll call it.

It's something that I'm really excited for, which is ironic since it's currently something that's driving me crazy.  I've been working on it for about a week, and I've finished the introduction and the plot overview.  I'm about halfway through the glossary, which will need to define characters, races, locations, enemies, Zelda terminology, and gaming terminology.  Basically, I'm hitting the tedious parts of writing it, which is unfortunate.  Necessary, but unfortunate.  At least I've finished the overview now, and while I wish it were better, I do like how I framed it.

Anyway, the next article I'm working on for it is going to go into the game mechanics, which is actually not boring since the mechanics really emphasize the theme.  After that, I'm not sure.  I'll probably cover either Link or the Bombers.

Project: Urban Legacies preview

I've been writing seriously for about seven years now, and in that time, I've grown to develop some rather nasty opinions of fanfiction.  Despite the fact that I know it can put new perspectives on things, that it can explore avenues not canonically taken, and that it's a great way to learn how to write (my first writings were fanfiction, specifically of Star Wars in 6-7th grade, Bionicle in 5th grade, and even some very short stories about characters from the Mandie series when I was just starting school), I have a huge amount of disdain for it.  In my mind, it's not "real" writing.  It's poorly-written self-indulgent fantasies about shipping and how things "should have gone" and is just overall lazy writing that is, by nature, worse than original writing.

I'm telling you this to let you know just how hard it is for me to swallow that pride and say "I'm writing a fanfiction and I'm very serious about it."  Urban Legacies (working title) is a three-part Legend of Zelda modernfic--i.e., a fic that takes place in a modern time.  I've actually been working on it on-and-off for two years (because it's mainly a side-project) but I've done a lot of work with developing my world and outlining my plot.  I do have a ten-chapter draft of the first part, but I'm doing a near-complete rewrite because it was basically the "diet" version of the story I wanted to tell.  This draft will both improve my interpretations of certain elements of the series and expand on the stories that were important but never had a chance to be properly portrayed.

Anyway, just as a preview before I really get into it again and start putting it up in readable places, here's the first segment from the prologue.

The din in the empty lot was growing, but not even the few who braved the night tried to investigate.  Anyone who dared to be out at that hour recognized the noise and, more importantly, knew to stay away.  You never, under any circumstance, risked getting caught in the middle of a brawl between two blin gangs.

This particular fight, faintly illuminated by the bright Malo Mart sign, was a territory dispute being settled by a bokoblin gang leader and a moblin gang leader.  The two were evenly matched, and a jeering circle of both their underlings surrounded them as the struggle went back and forth.  The moblin had dominance, his hands around the throat of the pinned bokoblin, but the latter was still fighting, his punches wearing away at his opponent.  Unable to shield his face or withstand the blows, the moblin released the bokoblin, and the two split apart.

The two were both visibly limping as they circled, locked into their deathmatch by the other members of the two gangs.  The bokoblin grinned as he rubbed his neck.  “I ain’t goin’ down that easy, pal.”

The moblin shot him a death glare, the hair lining most of his body matted with both of their blood.  “You’re on moblin territory, kid.  You’re not leaving here alive.” 

The sole outside observer, watching from the roof of Malo Mart decided that it was time to break the stalemate.  He stepped out of the shadows, his face hidden by a mask—its piglike features providing a mocking caricature of the blins—and drew his gun, measuredly and methodically leveling it at the two figures in the center of the circle.

A shot rang through the night, silencing the throng’s roar.  A bullet ricocheted off the cement, chipping out a mark directly between the two.

“Awww, goddesses,” the failed assassin groaned as the crowd below turned as one to his hiding place.  He dove backwards, flattening himself against the roof as shots rang out from below, indiscriminately rechristening the store “AL ART.”  The man swore, discarding the gun, and listened as the clips emptied and the blins began turning on each other.  Each side blamed the other for the failed interference, and while neither side had particularly high qualms about maintaining their own honor, they were quick to insult the other faction’s lack thereof.

The man, already long forgotten, took the opportunity to climb down.  Somehow, by some fortunate chance, things had turned out better than expected.  Both sides were enraged now.  It would be a complete bloodbath.

The masked man’s feet hit the ground, and he casually strolled around the building.  Yes, it was a chaotic, frantic mess.  And he, he thought with satisfaction as he drew the sword slung across his back, would help clean it up.