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Review: Ragnorak updates Norse mythology for the modern age



Definitely not Marvel’s Thor: Norwegian actor David Stakston plays Magne, a high school student who finds himself imbued with the powers of the god of thunder in Ragnorak.

A lonely, awkward high school student finds himself channeling the mythic powers of Thor in Ragnorak, a surprisingly engaging Norwegian-language reworking of Norse mythology brought into the 21st century. Granted, Ragnorak isn’t going to give the MCU incarnation of Thor a run for his money any time soon. But despite occasional lapses into clumsy moralizing and clichéd teen-angst drama, the underlying story ultimately works.

(Mild spoilers below.)

The series is set in the fictional town of Edda, Norway—named after two Nordic literary masterpieces, the 13th-century Poetic Edda and Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda—and we are told that this is the place where the gods and giants once battled to the death in the original Ragnorak. A handful survived, and a family of immortal giants currently heads up Jutul Industries (Jutul is a variant of jötnar, a mythological class of giants), on which the town depends for its economic survival. Unfortunately, the corporation has also been disregarding the environment for decades, dumping toxic chemicals into the water supply, while global warming is causing the glaciers to recede at an alarming rate.

But the gods are not yet dead either, it seems. When Magne (David Stakston) moves back to his hometown with his younger brother Laurits (Jonas Strand Gravli) and single mom Turid (Henriette Steenstrup), a touch from a local old woman named Wenche (Eli Anne Linnestad) sets off noticeable physical changes. He no longer needs his glasses, for instance, and suddenly has enhanced strength and speed. Plus, he can sense changes in the weather and seems to have an affinity for thunder and lightning. The name “Thor” isn’t uttered until several episodes in, but the parallels are obvious, especially since in Norse mythology, Thor has a son named Magni.

If Magne is channeling Thor, his brother Laurits is clearly meant to mirror the trickster Loki. There are hints that Turid once had a fling with Jutul family “patriarch” Vidar Jutul (Gísli Örn Garðarsson), and that the gender-fluid Laurits might just be half-Jutul, which would explain why he is so drawn to that family (and is in keeping with the Loki of Norse myth, who teamed up with an army of giants for Ragnorak). In addition to Vidar, there is “daughter” Saxa (played to disdainful perfection by Theresa Frostad Eggesbø) and “son” Fjor (Herman Tømmeraas), who pretty much rule the local high school. Their “mother,” Ran (Synnøve Macody Lund) is the high school principal, whose affection for her youthful charges occasionally veers into the inappropriate.

Everyone assumes the physically imposing, dyslexic Magne is dimwitted—he’s more of a slow, deliberate thinker—and his lack of social skills makes him a misfit, although he finds a platonic friend in fellow outcast Isolde (Ylva Bjørkaas Thedin), a passionate environmentalist who stumbles on a Jutul family secret. Magne develops a crush on Gry (Emma Bones), who friend-zones him in favor of the handsome and charming Fjor. And Isolde’s investigations soon put him on a collision course with the Jutul clan.

There are some fine performances here. For instance, Gravli brings just the right enigmatic touch to Laurits, whose motives and loyalties are never quite clear. Although he torments his older brother, he still publicly mocks members of the Jutul family in revenge when they launch a smear campaign against Magne in order to nullify the threat he poses to them. Tømmeraas’ Fjor is equally engaging as he finds himself torn between family loyalty and his love for Gry. And Steenstrup is quite affecting as Turid, who left Edda after the tragic death of her husband, and still struggles with depression. She discourages Magne from pursuing the Jutul family, since she now works for the company and relies on that income to provide a stable home for her sons. The threat the Jutuls pose to the environment pales in comparison.

The series comes alive whenever it dispenses with the climate change theme and focuses on the central characters and conflicts.

That said, there are some very silly elements that challenge one’s willing suspension of disbelief. Vidar Jutul, for instance, has a penchant for stripping down whenever he’s about to unleash a beat-down—which happens a lot. I get that it’s meant to symbolize Vidar shedding his veneer of sophisticated civility to reveal his inner feral nature, but it does get ridiculous over time. And what passes for “cool” at Edda’s local high school dance might strike younger American viewers in particular as hopelessly stuck in the 1990s. But that’s a regional cultural difference, not necessarily a flaw. (I personally thought the Goth-metal music set to Old Norse lyrics was intriguing.)

On paper, at least, this is a clever use of the concept of Ragnorak as a metaphor for modern-day climate change, given that the mythological apocalypse is traditionally associated with extreme weather patterns that lead to a crisis for humanity. However, the execution is heavy-handed. Too often, the tone is didactic and lecturing, and saddling Thedin’s Isolde with all that leaden dialogue doesn’t do her character any favors. She’s the least interesting and likable of the lot; she shouldn’t be. It’s no accident that the series comes alive whenever it dispenses with the climate change theme and focuses on the central characters and conflicts. That’s when it channels the full power of the Norse mythology that serves as the series’ source material, which has endured for centuries for a reason.

Ragnorak has been unfavorably likened to the Twilight saga, and the comparison is not entirely undeserved. Sneer if you must, but the Twilight books sold over 120 million copies worldwide, while the films grossed over $3.3 billion globally at the box office and propelled Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson to stardom. That series clearly tapped into something fundamentally appealing to the human psyche. The same is true of Ragnorak, despite its occasional silliness. And at just six episodes, it’s not too much of a time sink in this binge-watching era if you’re inclined to give it a whirl.

Ragnorak is currently streaming on Netflix. In Norwegian with English subtitles.

Listing image by Netflix

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Sweeping report alleges inequity, sexual harassment at Nintendo’s American HQ




Through the first half of 2022, Nintendo of America has been in the crosshairs of critics and the US National Labor Relations Board thanks to reports and formal complaints about working conditions for its contracted employees, all brought into the spotlight after a reported layoff allegedly involved pro-union sentiment. In the months since that story broke out publicly, Kotaku reporter Sisi Jiang has tracked down even more allegations about the famed game publisher’s American headquarters—and the allegations land squarely in the domain of sexual harassment and gender inequity.

A sweeping report published at Kotaku on Tuesday recounts roughly one decade of internal incidents among NoA’s pool of temporary employees, dating back to “the early Wii U era,” backed by a number of on-the-record allegations from former Nintendo staffers along with anonymous reports. The report includes attempts to reach out to Nintendo of America’s leadership, an associated temp agency, and individual staffers who were named as workplace sexual harassers, but Kotaku says it never received answers to its questions.

Many of the reported issues revolve around a divide between full-time employees, colloquially known as “red badges,” and the rest of the company’s American workforce, which was managed by temp hiring agency Aerotek before that company was absorbed into another company during a recent reorganization. The women who spoke to Kotaku both on and off the record collectively suggest that their hopes for turning part-time status into a full-time Nintendo career were strained by being women. One anonymous source said, “your chance was probably worse as a girl,” while another who spoke on the record suggested women weren’t given work-related goals or metrics to grow their careers, instead being told to essentially increase “face time” with male colleagues.

According to the sources, this unclear path to advancement led to issues where women faced workplace sexual harassment, then had to brush it off in order to not be perceived as “overly sensitive” and have a clearer path to becoming a red badge, complete with more stable pay and benefits.

She left the company after being “warned to be less outspoken.”

One former QA tester suggests she found this out the hard way after reporting a male translator’s uncouth behavior in a workplace Microsoft Teams chat room in 2020, which included comments about his favorite Pokemon character to have sex with and his attraction to a clearly underage female character in the free-to-play video game Genshin Impact. The staffer in question, who spoke anonymously, says she left the company after Aerotek not only failed to act on the report but also “warned her to be less outspoken,” all while colleagues figured out that she had filed the complaint and “blamed her” for doing so.

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When context is key: “Hunger stones” go viral, but news first broke in 2018



Enlarge / A hunger stone in the Elbe River in Děčín, Czech Republic. The oldest readable carving is from 1616, with older carvings (1417 and 1473) having been wiped out by anchoring ships over the years.

Stories have been circling around the Internet this past week about the re-emergence in certain Czech and German rivers of so-called “hunger stones”—rocks embedded in rivers during droughts to mark the water level and warn future generations of the likely famine and hardship to come whenever the stones became visible again. The coverage has been fueled largely by an August 11 tweet noting one stone in particular, inscribed with a dire warning: “If you see me, weep.”

Hunger stones (hungerstein) are very much a real thing with a long and fascinating history. And Europe is in the midst of a historically severe drought—severe enough that water levels may indeed be sufficiently low for the stones to re-emerge once more. But that August 11 tweet and the related coverage are actually rehashing a series of news stories from 2018, when the re-emergence of the hunger stones in the midst of that year’s extreme drought in Europe made headlines.

It’s hardly an egregious case of misinformation, but it does provide an illustrative example of why including context is so important in the digital age—even in a relatively simple tweet enthusing about newly acquired knowledge.

The stone referenced in the August 11 tweet is located on the Elbe River in Děčín, Czech Republic—one of the oldest such landmarks in the region. The earliest readable inscribed date is 1616, but older carvings marking the droughts of 1417 and 1473 were wiped out by anchoring ships over the centuries. Other drought years carved in the stone include 1707, 1746, 1790, 1800, 1811, 1830, 1842, 1868, 1892, and 1893. It’s actually possible to see this particular stone some 126 days out of the year, thanks to the construction of a dam that was built on a tributary of the Elbe in 1926.

The stone also features an inscription likely added in 1938: “Neplač holka, nenaříkej, když je sucho, pole stříkej” (“Girl, don’t weep and moan, if it’s dry, water the field”). Another Elbe stone can be found near Bleckede, with the inscription Geht dieser Stein unter, wird das Leben wieder bunter (“When this stone goes under, life will become more colorful again”).

A 2013 paper examining the history of drought in the Czech region from 1090 to 2012 relied in part on hunger stones as “epigraphic data” of past droughts, supplementing evidence gleaned from annals, chronicles, diaries, tax documents, religious records, letters, printed manuscripts, and modern instrumental data. (Apparently in 1393, the drought was so severe it was possible to cross the River Vltava on its bed, and the water was “as green as grass.”)

Frankly, that paper is worth reading just for the historical anecdote concerning a priest named Prokop Diviš, known for serendipitously constructing one of the earliest grounded lightning rods. Diviš set up his “weather instrument” at his parsonage in June 1754. It was composed of several tin boxes and more than 400 metal spikes, and Diviš thought it could drive off storms. (The scientific community at the time was less than impressed with his theories.)

Five years later, in the fall of 1759, local villagers demanded Diviš remove it, convinced that it had been the cause of that summer’s drought. The authors suggest the priest’s personal enemies had riled up the crowd. The following March, the villagers broke the chains holding the instrument down, and a thunderstorm the following night knocked it over. But their victory was short-lived. There were so many thunderstorms that summer, damaging the fields and vineyards, that the villagers asked him to re-install his weather instrument. “His response was not positive,” the authors wrote.

Hunger stone at Dresden-Pillnitz, near the stairs of Pillnitz Castle's western sphinx. Inscriptions record droughts in the years 1778, 1893, 1904, 2003, 2018.
Enlarge / Hunger stone at Dresden-Pillnitz, near the stairs of Pillnitz Castle’s western sphinx. Inscriptions record droughts in the years 1778, 1893, 1904, 2003, 2018.

Dr. Bernd Gross/CC BY-SA 3.0

When Central Europe was yet again besieged by drought in 2018, the Elbe plummeted to its lowest levels in more than half a century, and news stories began circulating about the re-emergence of some of the hunger stones. The Associated Press, NPR, Smithsonian, and Atlas Obscura were among the outlets that covered the story.

So why has the story re-emerged now? Kim LaCapria, writing at Truth or Fiction, thinks it started with an August 10 post to the subreddit r/todayilearned, linking to the Wikipedia entry on hunger stones “simply as a point of interest.” Perhaps not coincidentally, two days before that, low-water levels in Lake Mead due to the extreme megadrought resulted in the discovery of yet another set of human remains—the fourth body found so far. So, as conversations about drought and climate change circulated in the ether, they created the perfect conditions to reignite interest in the hunger stones, sparking a fresh flurry of news stories—like this one.

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Will the Nintendo Switch ever see a price drop?



Mark Walton

In a recent interview with Nikkei Asia, Nintendo President Shuntaro Furukawa said the company has no plans “at this point” to increase the price of the Switch. Despite “rising production and shipping costs” for the system, Furukawa said Nintendo wants to “avoid pricing people out” of its console ecosystem (a worry apparently not shared by Meta, which recently raised the asking price of its Quest 2 VR headset).

While some are overreading the “at this point” phrasing as suggestive of a future Switch price increase, all this talk has us focused on some different questions. Namely, why haven’t we seen a price drop for the Nintendo Switch in the last five-plus years? And can we ever expect Nintendo to offer the system for less than its launch price?

A historical anomaly

When it comes to consistent console pricing, the Switch is truly in a class by itself. As of this writing, the Switch has been available in North America for over five years—nearly 2,000 days—yet it’s still being sold in the US for the same $299.99 you would have paid when the system launched in March, 2017.

Accounting for inflation, the $300 Switch is still one of the cheaper consoles.
Enlarge / Accounting for inflation, the $300 Switch is still one of the cheaper consoles.
While most consoles see a distinct downward pricing trend shortly after launch, the Switch has sat still for five years.
Enlarge / While most consoles see a distinct downward pricing trend shortly after launch, the Switch has sat still for five years.

To say this is unprecedented in the game industry is an understatement.

Looking back through the history of game console pricing, we found that the vast majority of consoles see their first price drop within a year or two of launch. It’s a pattern that encompasses successful systems like the PS2 (which dropped from $300 to $200 about 17 months after its US launch) to stinkers like the Wii U (which saw a $50 price drop just 10 months after launch), and almost everything in between.

The few consoles that do make it out of their second full year without a price drop almost invariably see some sort of reduction in year three. The Switch, on the other hand, has now shot through years three, four, and five at its original price.

We know there's a lot going on in this graph, but it's still pretty easy to identify the Switch as a major outlier.
Enlarge / We know there’s a lot going on in this graph, but it’s still pretty easy to identify the Switch as a major outlier.
If the Switch were an
Enlarge / If the Switch were an “average” console, it would be selling for around $150 to $180 today.

After five years on the market, the average game console (that hasn’t stopped production entirely by that point) sells for an average price that’s about 50 to 60 percent of its nominal launch price (depending on whether you look at the mean or the median). The Switch, which is still at 100 percent of its nominal launch price over five years after launch, is a huge outlier.

The only previous console that’s really in the same price-stability ballpark as the Switch is the Nintendo Wii. That system finally dropped from $250 to $200 in November of 2009, just over 1,100 days after its late-2006 launch. The Switch, for its part, is now threatening to double that record.

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