the sweetest side of the internet

IN: SWEET SUMMARIES | OUT: RIDICULOUS RAMBLING

♡ keep your descriptions classy

now this seems like a no-brainer. you've gotten to the point when you can publish your show on spotify or podchaser or soundcloud or wherever people host podcasts, and it all comes down to a few simple sentences to rope people in.

and while it sounds simple on paper, an engaging description can do quite a bit of heavy lifting, especially when it comes to selling people on your first episode.

in my honest opinion: short and sweet wins the race. nothing too short, obviously, but some of the best descriptions i've come across can say a lot with so little.

but if you wanna go the route of longer descriptions, i'd highly advise keeping these concise and cut down on any unnecessary fluff. get to the good stuff without being too specific—the vagueness will give your listeners something to look forward to!

also, and this is just a side note and undeniably just my opinion, but when it comes to complimentary language to describe your show—entertaining, hilarious, compelling—try keeping it to a minimum, or, better yet, have it come in the form of a quote from a reviewer or any other sort of press.

(fun fact: i had my own review quoted for the summary of the audio drama podcube™ and i am flattered to this day!)

while it's essential to be proud of your show, you don't want to assume audience reactions, and too much self-congratulatory language can come off as insecure and insincere.

instead, try descriptive phrases that present the genre, tone, and plot—trust me, it's way more convincing. long story short: be informative, but never excessive.

IN: PASSION PROJECTS | OUT: CASH GRABS

♡ do it for the art, not the money

be honest with yourself: are you making an audio drama because you respect the medium and feel your show would be best represented in this format, or are you just doing it because "well, night vale made a lot of money, so now you can too!"

for starters, get that way of thinking out of your head as soon as possible because it is no way to go about the creative process in any area of the artistic field.

if you're cynically pumping out content, people are going to catch on eventually that your endgame was never to entertain and inspire, but to reap the benefits of the potential income.

making money off of an audio drama is, in itself, a great, and sometimes guaranteed, perk, and believe me when i say there are plenty of people that will happily financially contribute to your continued success, but that should never be your main motivation.

and i get it, we all want to do what we love for a living, but if you throw yourself into a community that you have no respect for, you'll be laughed right out of the door.

Over the last year, The Amazing Digital Circus has kinda become one of my favorite things. While other Glitch Studios projects of then and now show some promise, I could never really get invested in the lot of them while TADC just really held my attention.

It's nicely paced, the animation and visual style is very appealing, and I was genuinely won over by its story and characters within mere moments of checking it out.

This is usually the part when I go over the basic plot of the thing I'm reviewing, but everyone and their mom must know what this show is so I'm going to keep it brief.

2023's The Amazing Digital Circus is about a group of six humans who get trapped in an elaborate digital wonderland after putting on a bizarre headset. They don't remember their names, they've been reduced to cartoon avatars, and all of this is being operated by a colorful and eccentric ringmaster by the name of Caine who yearns to entertain this group of hapless, trapped minds for an eternity.

The show mainly follows Pomni, the most recent addition to the Circus, who yearns for a way out as much as anyone else, but must be strung along on a variety of wild adventures if she wants to or not, engaging in several wacky scenarios be it a truck race through a candy kingdom, exploring a haunted mansion, or working minimum wage at a burger joint.

Along the way, we realize that the Circus might be more complex than it seems and trying to escape seems near impossible when Caine seems hellbent on keeping everyone trapped.

This premise is simple on the surface, but it's the way it's executed that gives TADC its life and charm. It's really the writing that carries it, for not only is it exceptionally funny, but its world and characters feel fully realized, especially as we get to learn more and more about the history of the Circus as well as some nice tidbits about its inhabitants.

This normally comes in the form of character-focused episodes, and personally, I would have loved to get more spotlights for certain characters, providing something similar to "The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor" and "Fast Food Masquerade" that feel like individual character studies on Kinger and Gangle.

And while they have some rather strong moments scattered throughout the show, you don't really get this same treatment with Ragatha and especially Zooble.

Comparatively, they feel a little unexplored and it kind of feels like squandered potential to go into their particular traumas.

But that's not to say that these characters are underdeveloped. Some of my favorite parts are during the noir section in "Untitled" where we manage to learn so much about Ragatha from just a few sentences and Zooble's conversation with Gangle during "They All Get Guns" is so touching.

For such a short series with barely a few hours worth of binging to get through, everyone is equally compelling and are riddled with these subtle details that say so much about them.

TADC in general is very character-focused, and despite its zany nature is a deeply existential exercise in sci-fi psychological horror that challenges the mental stability of our ensemble—often to horrifying or hilarious results. Because, behind its adorable facade, TADC is a dark comedy down to its core.

It's equally capable of being genuinely adorable or downright disturbing when it wants to be. While "The Mystery of Mildenhall Manor" is the designated horror episode, it's really episode eight's "hjsakldfhl" that shows how absurdly fucked up things could have been from day one, and left on hell of a cliffhanger that had the internet in a chokehold for months.

As for the events in store for the grand finale after such a great climax, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Me and my folks did pass around some theories, though their guesses were as good as mine.

The ending of the short story that inspired The Amazing Digital Circus, Harlan Ellison’s I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream, was, from a very specific lens, either a total downer or a pseudo victory for the triumphant spirit of the human race.

And I’m happy to say that The Last Act doesn’t have an ending nearly that horrifying or depressing. Bittersweet, undeniably, but, as Keke Palmer, the star of the newest Boots Riley film, I Love Boosters, would say: "still has a little sweetness to it".

The Last Act begins pretty much immediately where episode eight ends, the six humans stranded in a desolate Circus now devoid of all its life and color without Caine’s influence. They are now left to an even crueler fate, a potential eternity in a dead world with only themselves and their creeping insanity to keep them company.

And with Jax clearly showing signs of abstracting—this being the show’s iteration of someone fully committing to their madness—things couldn’t be going worse.

Visually, the show looks as good as ever, though that shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. As we do in most episodes, we get to explore some new locations and seeing the Circus reduced to a lifeless gray for a short while honestly places a ton of emphasis on the sheer scope of its massive size and abstract architecture.

The updated character models that have slowly started to settle into more defined designs since episode one are as appealing as ever, the episode managing to maintain an air of tragedy and tension despite how adorable everyone looks.

The same could be said for the voice acting: the main seven are all brilliantly portrayed, believable, and expressive, and some new voices get added to the mix as we catch a glimpse at Kaufmo and Ribbit pre-abstraction that further flesh out the Circus and its tumultuous past, though, that is to say, Jax's past.

And, because of this, does it make this film incredibly Jax-centric?

Yes, absolutely.

Does it sometimes feel like they’re desperately trying to pull all your heartstrings at once if it means making him easier to sympathize with?

Kinda.

Did the flashback sequence go on a bit longer than I’d like?

Again, yes.

Would I cut it from the film altogether?

Maybe trim it down a smidge, but otherwise, no.

Getting to understand Jax’s complicated headspace was something of an inevitability, and made quite apparent in the promotional poster alone, and The Last Act takes the time to prove that Jax’s insanely unhealthy coping mechanisms are bred from substantial trauma.

Despite his claims of being a one-dimensional bully, he’s far from the persona he projects and is just as, if not more, sensitive and vulnerable than anybody else.

Now, I’m not going to throw my hat in the ring here about whether or not Jax is a layered, traumatized character dealing with some very overt proof that he struggles with gender dysphoria, or if he’s a brooding, self-pitying edgelord that steals screen time from more likable characters—this review is long enough as it is—but I have no solid opinion on if I outright love or despise him.

That’s an argument I am not willing to have and a can of worms I am never opening.

But, with the treatment of Jax's character and the sheer amount of emphasis on his backstory, it does start to weigh on the narrative a bit, even if I kind of saw it coming.

And even if I would consider that a mild detriment to the film, it's handled with enough elegance that it almost gets away with it, and Jax fans and Jax haters will either be lulled to tears by his abstraction framed as a symbolic death, or jump for joy that it essentially removes him from the core cast altogether.

There wouldn't be much of a film without Jax, and though he's shoved into the position of being the emotional backbone despite some contradictions between his actions and the amount of sympathy we're supposed to have for him, it was really the sheer amount of love, kindness, and empathy of the other Circus members that got me teary-eyed.

No, literally, I cried. Several times, actually.

If anything truly got me reaching for tissues, it was watching this found family try to build a new life for themselves inside the Circus upon learning the harsh truth about their severed relationship with the real world.

Caine, having been sent to the void upon his deletion, comes to realize the wrong he's done and returns to the group not demanding forgiveness, but a genuine offer to make their lives better anyway he can.

We get a beautiful scene where we learn that their human counterparts are living fulfilling, happy lives separate from their copied minds, and the group finally feels a sense of peace and unity after several years of uncertain dread.

And...yeah, that's how it ends. Nothing absurdly tragic, nothing cruelly unfair, nothing nauseatingly saccharine—but an ending that's equal parts a little sad, a little sweet.

The thing that's tricky about writing an ending for a show like The Amazing Digital Circus is that a majority of its popularity—aside from the brutal shipping wars—was the mountain of theories and headcanons that dominated the space all this time and everyone vouching that they were right all along.

So people who were married to an idea that was crafted in their own head will be inevitably disappointed that it didn't turn out to be true.

I'd even say The Backrooms movie dropping around this same time couldn't be more perfect: our personal projections are a hell of a drug, and those who enjoyed the film are baffled by people who were expecting two hours of ambiance interrupted by a Freddy Fazbear NextBot cameo.

And is being wrong or thrown off guard or simply not liking the ending really a valid reason to be violently upset? To be mind-numbingly depressed? To be absurdly angry?

No, not really, at least not if you're a functioning human being—and especially an adult.

Some mild disappointment is entirely justified, though spamming cast and crew with rude messages and review bombing it on Letterboxd isn't exactly what I'd call healthy.

And, if I may continue this tangent, people who were impatient enough to watch the leaks on Twitter and then proceed to complain about them with unmarked spoilers with the specific intention to kill everyone’s enthusiasm aren't opinions I particularly value.

So, despite the sheer amount of rage this finale supposedly inspired, I went in and out of The Last Act feeling grateful I got to go on this journey at all. And while this ending may not have been worthy of a standing ovation, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at least a little amazing.

The premise of Lost Terminal is relatively simple: in the distant future—and by that I mean about forty years from now—a sentient space satellite dubbed Seth suddenly loses contact with Earth and sends out a series of messages in hope of getting a response.

Over time, things change, an abrupt relocation derails his original plans, and we get to see the world through Seth's eyes as he communicates with human and machine alike.

All the while, Seth waxes poetically in philosophical and sentimental monologues about himself, humanity, and existence, trying to learn not only more about himself, but the very nature of his human creators.

Over time, we get more information about the purpose of his deployment, dutifully reporting on his progress and chatting up his fellow machines like chummy coworkers.

Lost Terminal is a little something I like to call "cozy existentialism," a special subcategory of similar "hopepunk" settings where the extensive navel-gazing, while mildly disquieting, also manages to feel very homey and comforting, with a childlike whimsy.

The soft, calming narration of Lost Terminal certainly adds to this. I found Seth's voice very soothing and sweet and sounds like something straight out of a nature documentary.

On a technical standpoint, Lost Terminal is a very smooth listen, providing not much in the way of additional sound effects beyond the occasional vocal glitch. A majority of the backing track is some humming ambiance.

Each episode also has musical intermissions, practically the equivalent of The Weather in Welcome to Night Vale, that I felt tend to go on for a lot longer than they need to.

And given the fact that many of the episodes are so short, the amount of time these one to two-minute techno tracks is definitely felt and weighs on the runtime. These feel so much more naturally interwoven in the longer episodes, providing a nice break between the first and second halves of the story.

I suppose these are far more similar to the music breaks in Wolf 359, a clever way of transitioning between scenes or just letting the events that transpired marinate for a bit. Once again, this adds to the show's leisurely aesthetic and docile tone.

It would seem the nature of contemplation as well as the natural beauty of the world, even during what's shown to be something of a climate disaster, is most definitely a recurring fascination at play here.

Categorizing these shows under specific genre niches is a topic that arises a lot while I'm writing these, and the ones that come to mind for Lost Terminal are two: a deep fascination with geographical locations and the concept of machine-to-machine communication, though it's truly Seth's inner monologue, if not some occasional dialogue with his peers, that has to carry much of the storytelling on its back.

The sense of conflict in Lost Terminal tends to vary and, in general, doesn't possess much urgency, so it's really our level of engagement with Seth and his recounting of events that keeps the momentum going.

And, to be honest, I like Seth.

Over time, you can't help but be endeared to the satellite's boundless curiosity and sheer innocence of his worldview—his understanding of earth and humanity viewed through this lens of utter adoration and naivete that you can't help but suspect will be smashed to bits sooner or later.

He still has yet to get any responses for all the transmissions he's been sending out for days on end, and a part of you just sits there, suspecting some horrible truth to come bubbling to the surface.

And yet, Seth prevails, either willingly oblivious or especially hopeful.

Seth's sheer trust and admiration for humanity, especially compared to his more cautious and borderline cynical acquaintances, provide an interesting contrast—I was particularly a fan of Ivan.

And maybe it's just my thoughts on 2014's SAYER colliding with this one, but throughout the entirety of my listen, I anticipated Seth's blindly trusting nature to dwindle, or even just the slightest hint of decreasing confidence in his human peers as he's challenged more and more.

While Seth has some occasional disagreements, he's far from being stubborn or irritable or snarky, even if the well-being of his fellow machines tends to come first. Not that Seth's unshakable kindness isn't endearing, but then again, I wouldn't have minded having a little more friction.

Despite them being rather similar shows, the interactions between human and machine, as well as machine to machine, couldn't be more different than SAYER who uses these interactions for horror rather than painting a picture of a fractured world capable of healing.

Let's just say that listening to both of these shows around the same time most definitely creates an interesting moral back and forth.

If anything, Lost Terminal feels like the good counterpart to SAYER—not just the show, but the titular character of SAYER—possessing a far more optimistic and far less misanthropic perspective of a hypothetical future, the perspective of Seth greatly contrasting SAYER's frigid and, more often than not, manipulative streak that made them such a morally dubious character.

Even the introductions, Seth's warm and welcoming "hello world" compared to SAYER's coldly professional "greetings, resident" setting the tone of both shows in just a few simple words.

All around, the line between human and machine is deliberately blurred here, while, with SAYER, the worst of humanity's flaws straddle the line between intentional programming and the implication that these traits were always evident in his character.

The same could be said here, Seth's kindness and willingness to help being seen as just part of his character and not so much a programming mistake. Seth simply is empathetic, is kind, is generous and curious and that warm fuzzy feeling he evokes feels genuine.

But, be it SAYER or Lost Terminal, it is interesting to perceive these machines as humans, and through the eyes of Seth, he always manages to provide these very complex emotions, reactions, and details that would ordinarily be lost on us.

It's times like these that the descriptions really shine and we get these interesting glimpses into the mental states of the artificial intelligences that can vary from humorous to tragic.

I honestly wasn't sure what to expect going into this and was not only endeared to Seth and his view of a flawed world, but also genuinely intrigued by the range of topics the show provided.

Humanity, nature, what it means to truly live—if these are topics that intrigue you, then Lost Terminal most definitely scratches that itch.

While I've perused far more hopepunk audio drama than usual in the past few months, and while I wouldn't consider it my favorite subsection of sci-fi, I'd definitely say that Lost Terminal left me something to chew on after giving it a long enough listen, which is what hopepunk should always strive for.

Even if I found it a little slow at times, Lost Terminal still has a calming tone, soothing narrative, and empathetic atmosphere that's worth taking a look at, especially if your tastes in sci-fi are considerably less chaotic than mine.

If we foolish humans hadn’t done it already, something this warm-hearted would be enough to melt the ice caps.