"For a lot of younger audiences -- and I've asked my daughters and their friends about this -- black and white represents an unsettling lack, and not just of color. Compared to the pounding sugar shock induced by media aimed at children, old movies can seem disturbingly empty. The pace is unhurried, the action irregular, the dramatic payoff uncertain or, worse, corny and predictable. Kids thrive on knowing the rules and feeling superior to them, and entertainment corporations are slavish about catering to those interests if only to close the sale. One false move and you've lost them, literally so in the home video environment, which is the only place most kids watch old movies and from which their entire shiny lives beckon them to come away if they're bored for a nanosecond."
Ty Burr, The Best Old Movies for Families: A Guide to Watching Together
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
I'm an easy mark, I guess, to be so grateful for centaur star-gazing and Dr. Cornelius, and let's not forget the bear who sucked his paws
Prince Caspian is a summer book, a library book meant to be read in the back seat of your mom's station wagon, windows down, wearing shorts, on your way to the pool, or a forest where you'll splash crawfish in the creek and fight knights with wooden swords, homemade. It's a book that's in a pile next to your bed with Song of Roland and The Egypt Game and a picture book of Greek myths. Prince Caspian is another trip to Narnia, this time all sun and sand and full green forests and warriors in armor and broadsword fights. It's another chance to stay in Narnia forever, even if it only lasts a few hundred pages, that forever of sun-gleamed shields and a golden-maned Aslan, and trees -- trees in a glade, trees that dance and arch their branches into a wild forest cathedral, trees that catch the sunlight and the starlight and make that world into a holy place.
It's my summer book, my summer holiday book, just as the Pevensies get set to return to school, they, and I, we all get pinched and pulled away to a war and a wilderness and woods where Aslan waits for us to finally believe and see him. When I read Prince Caspian, I find I never want to leave Narnia. When I read any of the Chronicles, in fact, I find I never want to leave Narnia. Perhaps that's why we're lucky to have seven books, and why Lewis promised that even the end of his books was only the beginning of the story. That is the one great function of fairy stories, to show us the world of Faerie and stir in us a desire to dwell in that place forever. It's the desire for heaven, enchanted with the trappings of fauns and dwarves and broadswords.
For all the wailing of infidelity and smug denunciations that have come out against the Prince Caspian movie, I myself cannot shake the unmistakably familiar feeling I get whenever I watch either of these two latest adaptations: I find I never want to leave Narnia. Whatever its faults as an adaptation of Lewis's work, whatever its thematic poverty (according to the nitpickers, at least), the Narnia movies affect in me that same longing, that same desire I get from reading the books: I want to stay in Narnia forever.
Patronizing as I'm sure it will sound, I actually feel bad for those who reacted to Prince Caspian with disgust. They are so attached to "the word" of Lewis that they end up missing the beauty and power of the images. It was Lewis himself who said he conceived of the Narnia stories as images in his head which he then fashioned stories around. And what are movies if not images come to life, animated with movement and music, and the flesh and breathe and voice of real people inhabiting our favorite characters.
Yes, the movie leaves things out, it even dares to change things. We don't get to see the part where Dr. Cornelius tells Caspian all the tales of Old Narnia -- but what we do get is the round, twinkling face of the old tutor that betrays the perfect hint of his dwarvish mother. What we do get is the thrill and magic of the moment when Caspian stands before the Old Narnians on the Dancing Lawn and pledges to restore Narnia to them.
We don't get the scene where each of the children finally comes to see Aslan as they each in turn come to believe he is there. But instead we get a beautiful scene of a contemplative Peter, sitting at the foot of the broken Stone Table and silently praying before the image of Aslan, a moment of Adoration almost, in which we know from his sad, meditative face that he has finally realized the sin of his unbelief and is begging for Aslan's forgiveness and help. We get the simple profundity of the moment when Edmund, Peter, Caspian, and Susan finally come face to face with the great lion and they fall to their knees in homage and repentance.
I've read criticism from Christians who say Aslan is just a "magic lion" in these movies, that he's really no different than any of the other animals, only kinda, sorta "more powerful." I can't understand such impressions, not when I've seen the golden mane of Aslan in the forest, the trees parting in the glade to reveal him in all his majesty to Lucy as she seeks him with her simple faith. "Just a dream"? To paraphrase Albus Dumbledore, just because it's happening in her head doesn't mean it's not real. I can't understand the idea that Aslan is just a cuddly creature who roars occassionally, not when his roar is so terrifying, so utterly wild and fierce and dangerous, that I wonder for a moment how he might ever speak in Liam Neeson's dulcet tones again.
The Narnia movie nitpickers have, sadly, missed the forest for the dryads in their criticisms of Prince Caspian. Could more of Lewis's themes have remained intact? Certainly. But very, very few adaptations maintain all of a book's themes when going from page to screen, so why scold Caspian so relentlessly? I left the movie wanting to be a better Christian. The film reminded me of a favorite homily topic of one of my favorite priests: In our lives, whose will are we really following, God's or our own? Caspian reawakened in me the awareness that it must always be God's will that I follow, that thinking I can do it alone leads to nothing.
But yes, let's savage the film because the themes weren't subtle enough, because the breadth of Lewis's theological thinking wasn't explored with enough depth. Nevermind that the film stirred my heart (and I'm sure others') toward virtue, or that it filled me with the same longing and joy that I get from reading the books. Nevermind the beautiful and profound images: the catacomb of the Stone Table; Trumpkin kneeling before the roar of Aslan; the four kings and queens standing amongst the ruins of Cair Paravel; the werewolf and the hag tempting Caspian into evil; Aslan breathing on the Telemarines before they go through the door in the air; Peter and Susan walking with Aslan as he tells them they cannot return to Narnia -- that private conversation we never hear, yet we know from their faces the seriousness, the sadness of that conversation, and the spiritual maturity the eldest siblings have achieved to be able to have had such a talk with the lion. Nevermind all that, I guess, since the filmmakers didn't hammer the anti-Enlightenment theme hard enough for the critics. I guess Miraz calling the Narnians a superstition and Cornelius saying he was "forbade to mention the old tales" wasn't enough for them, nor was Trumpkin's calling Aslan "someone who doesn't exist." I find it funny and ironic, as well, that so many critics are decrying the violence in the film, because the exact same criticisms were (and continue to be) lobbed at the books. Many argued that the books glorified violence and were far too violent to be "Christian," and yet Lewis responded that he was no pacifist, and that the books are violent because life is violent and full of evils that need to be fought and we should not shield children from this fact.
For my part, though, the nitpickers can keep picking their nits in resentment while I bask in the grace of the golden CGI lion and pledge my sword to Ben Barnes's Caspian.
Now the weather gets warmer, the trees fill with green, and soon it's summer. The summer story -- Prince Caspian -- waits at the side of my bed to be opened and enjoyed again, to be read underneath a tree or on a playground swing. And now it's also waiting for me in the darkened theater, the film's summer sun pierces light through those shadows and takes me to a place I never want to leave, to Narnia and to Aslan.
It's my summer book, my summer holiday book, just as the Pevensies get set to return to school, they, and I, we all get pinched and pulled away to a war and a wilderness and woods where Aslan waits for us to finally believe and see him. When I read Prince Caspian, I find I never want to leave Narnia. When I read any of the Chronicles, in fact, I find I never want to leave Narnia. Perhaps that's why we're lucky to have seven books, and why Lewis promised that even the end of his books was only the beginning of the story. That is the one great function of fairy stories, to show us the world of Faerie and stir in us a desire to dwell in that place forever. It's the desire for heaven, enchanted with the trappings of fauns and dwarves and broadswords.
For all the wailing of infidelity and smug denunciations that have come out against the Prince Caspian movie, I myself cannot shake the unmistakably familiar feeling I get whenever I watch either of these two latest adaptations: I find I never want to leave Narnia. Whatever its faults as an adaptation of Lewis's work, whatever its thematic poverty (according to the nitpickers, at least), the Narnia movies affect in me that same longing, that same desire I get from reading the books: I want to stay in Narnia forever.
Patronizing as I'm sure it will sound, I actually feel bad for those who reacted to Prince Caspian with disgust. They are so attached to "the word" of Lewis that they end up missing the beauty and power of the images. It was Lewis himself who said he conceived of the Narnia stories as images in his head which he then fashioned stories around. And what are movies if not images come to life, animated with movement and music, and the flesh and breathe and voice of real people inhabiting our favorite characters.
Yes, the movie leaves things out, it even dares to change things. We don't get to see the part where Dr. Cornelius tells Caspian all the tales of Old Narnia -- but what we do get is the round, twinkling face of the old tutor that betrays the perfect hint of his dwarvish mother. What we do get is the thrill and magic of the moment when Caspian stands before the Old Narnians on the Dancing Lawn and pledges to restore Narnia to them.
We don't get the scene where each of the children finally comes to see Aslan as they each in turn come to believe he is there. But instead we get a beautiful scene of a contemplative Peter, sitting at the foot of the broken Stone Table and silently praying before the image of Aslan, a moment of Adoration almost, in which we know from his sad, meditative face that he has finally realized the sin of his unbelief and is begging for Aslan's forgiveness and help. We get the simple profundity of the moment when Edmund, Peter, Caspian, and Susan finally come face to face with the great lion and they fall to their knees in homage and repentance.
I've read criticism from Christians who say Aslan is just a "magic lion" in these movies, that he's really no different than any of the other animals, only kinda, sorta "more powerful." I can't understand such impressions, not when I've seen the golden mane of Aslan in the forest, the trees parting in the glade to reveal him in all his majesty to Lucy as she seeks him with her simple faith. "Just a dream"? To paraphrase Albus Dumbledore, just because it's happening in her head doesn't mean it's not real. I can't understand the idea that Aslan is just a cuddly creature who roars occassionally, not when his roar is so terrifying, so utterly wild and fierce and dangerous, that I wonder for a moment how he might ever speak in Liam Neeson's dulcet tones again.
The Narnia movie nitpickers have, sadly, missed the forest for the dryads in their criticisms of Prince Caspian. Could more of Lewis's themes have remained intact? Certainly. But very, very few adaptations maintain all of a book's themes when going from page to screen, so why scold Caspian so relentlessly? I left the movie wanting to be a better Christian. The film reminded me of a favorite homily topic of one of my favorite priests: In our lives, whose will are we really following, God's or our own? Caspian reawakened in me the awareness that it must always be God's will that I follow, that thinking I can do it alone leads to nothing.
But yes, let's savage the film because the themes weren't subtle enough, because the breadth of Lewis's theological thinking wasn't explored with enough depth. Nevermind that the film stirred my heart (and I'm sure others') toward virtue, or that it filled me with the same longing and joy that I get from reading the books. Nevermind the beautiful and profound images: the catacomb of the Stone Table; Trumpkin kneeling before the roar of Aslan; the four kings and queens standing amongst the ruins of Cair Paravel; the werewolf and the hag tempting Caspian into evil; Aslan breathing on the Telemarines before they go through the door in the air; Peter and Susan walking with Aslan as he tells them they cannot return to Narnia -- that private conversation we never hear, yet we know from their faces the seriousness, the sadness of that conversation, and the spiritual maturity the eldest siblings have achieved to be able to have had such a talk with the lion. Nevermind all that, I guess, since the filmmakers didn't hammer the anti-Enlightenment theme hard enough for the critics. I guess Miraz calling the Narnians a superstition and Cornelius saying he was "forbade to mention the old tales" wasn't enough for them, nor was Trumpkin's calling Aslan "someone who doesn't exist." I find it funny and ironic, as well, that so many critics are decrying the violence in the film, because the exact same criticisms were (and continue to be) lobbed at the books. Many argued that the books glorified violence and were far too violent to be "Christian," and yet Lewis responded that he was no pacifist, and that the books are violent because life is violent and full of evils that need to be fought and we should not shield children from this fact.
For my part, though, the nitpickers can keep picking their nits in resentment while I bask in the grace of the golden CGI lion and pledge my sword to Ben Barnes's Caspian.
Now the weather gets warmer, the trees fill with green, and soon it's summer. The summer story -- Prince Caspian -- waits at the side of my bed to be opened and enjoyed again, to be read underneath a tree or on a playground swing. And now it's also waiting for me in the darkened theater, the film's summer sun pierces light through those shadows and takes me to a place I never want to leave, to Narnia and to Aslan.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Some brief thoughts on Luis Bunuel's "Viridiana," from a Catholic perspective
It's not the miracles, or the Resurrection, or the Virgin Birth, or "Love thy neighbor" that makes Christianity so hard. It's the forgiveness. Seven times Seventy-Seven means pretty much infinity in Bible-terms, and let's not forget John Paul II forgave the dude who shot him. Jesus offered himself up to die on a cross so that all of our sins could be forgiven, and all he's asking in return is that we always forgive. It's considered by many to be the hardest of Jesus's teachings. It strikes at the deadliest of the sins -- Pride -- because when we forgive someone who has wronged us, we have to let go of our self-righteous pride to do it.
"Viridiana" is not some kind of super-stealthy jujitsu Christian movie masquerading as an anti-Catholic comedy. It's ant-Catholic. Bunuel's film, in fact, might be better described as anti-Christian, due to its scathing attack on some of the basic tenants of Christianity, including a very un-PC critique of the poor. It's funny, and disturbing, and brilliant, and I loved it, but it holds a pretty unflattering mirror up to Christianity and says, "This is a religion of hypocrites. And these people over here, these 'poor', they're not worth your time. And in the end, you get nothing out of your religion except disappointment." I'm not sure how I can defend my love for a movie that so successfully and intelligently attacks and refutes my religion (not to mention the fact that Catholicism in particular is made to look especially ridiculous).
But I knew I loved this movie the moment Viridiana refused to forgive her uncle. All the debauchery, the faux-piety, the perversion, and the sin that acts against, overwhelms, and ultimately destroys Viridiana's faith can, in a way, be traced back to her own sin. By committing such a sin and refusing to forgive her uncle, Viridiana lays the tracks for her own spiritual train wreck. Here is a film that has no qualms about ridiculing one of the most socially acceptable of Christianity's teachings -- love for the poor -- but yet at the same time, gives a theologically perfect example of how refusing to forgive can damn your soul. Something changes in Viridiana the moment she refuses that apology. All the perversion and sexual licentiousness swirling around her in her uncle's house had no effect on her faith, but the moment she's called upon to live out the hardest of Christ's teachings, she fails, and with her failure her heart hardens just a little.
The rest of the film is Viridiana's attempt to make amends, but her heart continues to be hard toward her uncle. In the end her good works for the poor couldn't save her, nor could her seeming piety. "Judge not lest ye be judged" isn't a command not to judge, but a warning to remember that you'll get what you give out, so it's better for your soul to forgive. In Viridiana's case, she gave no comfort, no mercy to her uncle, and in the end, no mercy was given to her. She becomes the thing she hates, and God seems to have left her in despair just as she left her sad, dejected uncle. It's Bunuel irony at its finest.
Irony is considered by some to be the highest form of humor. I've read essays by philosophers who argue that God himself enjoys irony above all other forms. Bunuel's use of irony brilliantly attacks God and the Christian religion, but the film cannot escape one further ironic turn: In its attempts to reject and refute Christianity, the film shows just where a rejection of Christianity leads. Viridiana herself rejects Christianity (when she does not forgive) and it leads to her "doom." She ends the film a cynical, world-wearied woman, resigned to a life of empty pleasures. The bitter irony of her ultimate fate doesn't erase all of Bunuel's other pointed and intelligent (and funny) attacks against Christianity. They still stand and they still disturb the believing Christian even as she laughs heartily. But the strange irony of Viridiana's unchristian behavior being the cause of her eventual despair, is one of the things (among many) that enriches and complicates this film, and makes it a masterpiece.
In Matthew's gospel, Peter asks Jesus: "Lord, how many times must I forgive?" And just as Jesus answered, so Bunuel tells Viridiana: "Seven times seventy-seven." She doesn't have a problem giving away all her possessions like the rich young man from Matthew's gospel, but she goes away sad nevertheless. Forgiveness? That is a hard teaching. And "Viridiana" is a great film.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
"I wanna watch Betty Boop!"
That's the new thing these days for my two-and-a-half year old niece. Ever since I used my ipod to distract her one day while my mom changed her clothes she's been hooked on the Betty Boop video I got from Vintage Toon Cast. The toon in question is "Betty Boop and the Old Man in the Mountain." I can't decide which makes me happier, the fact that she's totally into a black and white cartoon from the 30s, that she's totally into the Cab Calloway jazz number on the soundtrack, or that she's started dancing along (in hilarious fashion) with the Old Man when he does his best Cab impression. I think the adorable way she says "Betty Boop" is my favorite. Nothing warms my heart faster than to hear those words: "I wanna watch Betty Boop!" Coming right up!
Monday, May 5, 2008
It's quarter to three. . .
I've had "One for My Baby (and One More for the Road)" stuck in my head all day. So what do I do when I want to post something but don't feel like writing something? YOUTUBE! I typed in the song on youtube just for fits and giggles to see what would come up, and amidst the usual Frank Sinatras and Billie Holidays I found someone I never expected: Ida Lupino.
And yeah, this is Ida actually singing. I did not know she could sing, and if IMDB is to be trusted, she plays the piano too. Crazy, man. But as cool as this clip is, it bums me out because it's a movie I've never seen, and never knew I wanted to see until I first found this clip and found out the movie existed. Noir in a road house with Richard Widmark and Celeste Holm and Cornel Wilde, and Ida as the torch singer? Where have you been all my life Road House (1948) directed by Jean Negulesco!
Clip (with Spanish subtitles! Son las 02:45. . .)
And yeah, this is Ida actually singing. I did not know she could sing, and if IMDB is to be trusted, she plays the piano too. Crazy, man. But as cool as this clip is, it bums me out because it's a movie I've never seen, and never knew I wanted to see until I first found this clip and found out the movie existed. Noir in a road house with Richard Widmark and Celeste Holm and Cornel Wilde, and Ida as the torch singer? Where have you been all my life Road House (1948) directed by Jean Negulesco!
Clip (with Spanish subtitles! Son las 02:45. . .)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
_01.jpg)
