Summer Hiatus

I think I'm going to take a short hiatus on this blog for the next month or so. I'm trying to work on a couple of academic articles, as well as write my new novel, and I'm finding it nearly impossible to summon enough residual intellectual energy to find interesting things to say about popular culture. I'll try to post every couple of weeks if I encounter something particularly provocative, but I won't be posting regularly for a month or two. When I'm through with these dread articles, I'll be back to a more frequent posting schedule.

27 Dresses

It has been a while since I've seen a new romantic comedy. I can only enjoy them when I'm in a very particular mood, and I was in that mood yesterday. So I watched 27 Dresses, a movie that nicely fits the bill of enjoyable romantic comedy without being overwhelmingly good.

27 Dresses tells the story of Jane, a woman obsessed with weddings who has been a bridesmaid twenty-seven times. She is always doing things for other people--her friends, the brides-to-be, and her outdoorsman boss (with whom she is also in love). When her flighty sister comes along and sweeps her boss off his feet, Jane is in the unenviable position of planning her dream wedding for her sister and the man she loves. This torment is compounded by Kevin, a newspaper wedding-writer whose cynicism about love is a mask for his disillusionment with marriage.

The movie has all of the typical devices of a romantic comedy: a wise-cracking best friend, embarrassing incidents, charming arguments, a public declaration of love, and even a wacky musical number. I found Jane (Katherine Heigl) to be basically sympathetic. I particularly felt for her when her sister swept in and took everything she'd ever wanted, and I found her struggle between her own needs and her characteristic selflessness to be moving. I also found Kevin (James Marsden) appealing, although I wish the movie had allowed us to get to know him a little more. Tess (Malin Akerman), Jane's sister, started out promising--pretty, flighty, self-absorbed, and affectionate--but as the story progressed she grew more and more selfish and heartless. So much so that at the end, when we're supposed to like her again, I couldn't be convinced by that aspect of the happy ending. Overall, though, the movie offers what a romantic comedy is supposed to offer--fun, romance, sentiment, and a happy ending. And I did like all of those bridesmaid dresses.

What bothered me about the movie was the way it treated selflessness and care for others. Jane was a very giving person--working behind the scenes to help things run smoothly, holding the brides' dresses as they pee, trying to take care of her sister. She certainly was portrayed as a doormat, never able to say no or make a stand for what she wanted or thought was right. But the movie went too far in allowing her to get her spine back. As is the trend in popular culture, selflessness itself was shown as a weakness. In one conversation, Tess tells Jane that it's time she stops taking care of other people--as if taking care of other people is wrong!

While I was happy to see Jane recover from her extreme doormat-ness, I had found many of the selfless aspects of her character laudable and appealing. And I was sorry to see her lose them so completely. I was also sorry to see another popular text show selflessness, care, and sacrifice as negative qualities. Apparently, we are all to be self-focused and look out only for our own needs. Because, of course, selfishness is what makes a community work.

Prince Caspian

I went to see the second Narnia movie, Prince Caspian, this weekend. The adaptation was much less consistent with the book than The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but I still enjoyed the movie quite a lot.

The narrative of the book Prince Caspian is non-linear and unwieldy, so I was neither surprised nor upset that the makers of the film took a lot of liberties with the unfolding of the plot. They worked in chronological order--rather than using stories within stories as Lewis did--and they beefed up the visually or emotionally dramatic moments considerably. The film ruthlessly streamlines Caspian's flight from Miraz and his encounters with the Old Narnians, creates conflict between Peter and Caspian about who is in authority, and adds a substantial scene depicting an attempt by the Old Narnians to take the castle from Miraz that wasn't in the book at all. The movie unfolds in a much more traditional storytelling arc, but for the most part I didn't have a problem with the changes.

What the film did well and what satisfied me was the way it kept and effectively developed all of the main themes of the book. I read one review of the film last week that complained the film had too much battle and not enough of the "enchantment" of the first film (this was Owen Gleiberman's review in Entertainment Weekly). He is quite right in this observation but, of course, the film simply reflects the nature of the second book. Prince Caspian is much more about war and politics than about the simple joy and enchantment of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. While the description of the fights and battles in the book aren't nearly as length and graphic as what we see in the film, I think the way the film-makers emphasize combat is exactly on target with Lewis's purposes.

Michael Ward's Planet Narnia, a fascinating and convincing study of the Chronicles of Narnia, argues that Lewis uses the characteristics of one of the medieval "seven heavens" to shape each of the seven Narnia books. I heard Ward speak in Edinburgh and I think he's really onto something with his argument. I haven't yet finished reading his book, but I'm pretty nearly convinced he's right. Anyway, he says that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe reflects Jupiter and thus emphasizes "jovial" characteristics, and Prince Caspian reflects Mars, the warrior god, and appropriately highlights battle, war, and combat. I thought the battle scenes in the film were well-done. I also thought the visual incongruity of children participating in battle (a boy the age of Peter fighting a duel with the full-grown Miraz, Susan standing alone with her bow and arrows against oncoming knights on horseback) was quite powerful. And the visuals effectively portray the world Lewis created in the book.

I also think the film did well conveying the gradual appearance of Aslan and the way the characters related to him. The movie didn't neglect the theme of faith in Prince Caspian. The way Lucy's childlike faith allows her to see Aslan before the others, the other children's skepticism without tangible proof, Lucy's own failure to act on her knowledge when she should--all of these elements were well-done in the film. And this theme was further developed in the characterization of Peter, which wasn't in the book at all. Lewis's Peter is quite a flat character, but the film-makers showed him to be struggling with his role in Narnia, his leadership, and his trust in Aslan. While this isn't at all part of Lewis's story, I thought it was believable characterization and added interesting dramatic elements to the movie. I also thought it was in keeping with most of Lewis's themes, so the added content didn't bother me.

So in terms of thematic development, storytelling, and visual elements, I thought the movie was excellent. I did have a problem with a couple of issues--mostly those of characterization. Peter, Edmund, Lucy, Miraz, and Aslan were all portrayed well. But the film didn't do Caspian justice, and the characterization of Susan was all over the place.

In the book, Caspian flees from Miraz and encounters the Old Narnians at a much more leisurely pace than in the film. He has time to meet the Old Narnians, practice his leadership abilities, and earn their trust long before they blow the horn to summon the Pevensies. He never has this chance in the film. He's only just met the Old Narnians when Peter arrives to assert his own authority. This leads the conflict of leadership between the two young men. While I don't think the conflict itself is implausible, it gets in the way of the growth of Caspian as a potential king. Throughout the film, I couldn't help but think he was kind of a wimp--bristling at Peter's leadership, mooning stupidly over Susan, dropping the ball in the middle of battle in a silly attempt to kill his uncle, and overly tempted to resort to the White Witch to get his throne. The Caspian of the book is very young, but he does none of this foolish things. And, although we're supposed to see a maturing of his character in the movie, I wasn't entirely confident of his ability to handle the kingship effectively.

And, finally, I'm not sure what the film-makers were trying to do with Susan. In the book, she's a lot like she was in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe--with a few more hints that she doesn't have the faith the other children have. At times, in the book, she's kind of jerk. And, while she is brave in facing dangers, she doesn't have the spiritual or emotional strength that Lucy has. The movie made a gesture at portraying these characteristics of Susan. But, at the same time, it randomly put words of wisdom and sage advice in her mouth and gives her valiant qualities that don't belong to her character. My only guess is that the writers wanted to pursue the childish romance between her and Caspian, and they had to make her sympathetic enough for viewers to buy into Caspian's attraction to her. (In case you haven't figured it out yet, I thought the romance was absolutely absurd, unnecessary, and in conflict with anything Lewis was trying to do in the book.) Even had Susan's characterization not been contrary to that in the book, it still would have been inconsistent in the movie. She just doesn't work as the Pevensie child who eventually loses faith and as the romantic heroine.

Overall, I quite enjoyed the movie and I'd like to see it again to pick up some more details. And I'll end by saying that Georgie Henley, who plays Lucy, is a marvel. She's captured Lucy perfectly. The moment when she faces off against the troop of Miraz's soldiers on the bridge with just her knife is one of my favorite in the movie.

(By the way, have I imagined it, or did there used to be an early movie poster of Prince Caspian that featured Peter in his armor? I looked for it online but couldn't find it. I really liked that image better than Caspian with his windswept hair.)

Ocean's Thirteen

I watched this movie for the first time last week. I've seen Ocean's Eleven several times, and it's one I really like. I saw Ocean's Twelve only once, and I'll probably see the third film in the series only once as well. It was enjoyable enough but, like the second film, it wasn't nearly as good as the first.

Ocean's Eleven is a good movie. It is well-written, effectively paced, visually appealing, and delightfully witty. While there isn't a lot of character development--which is what normally makes a movie work for me--in its place is the overall tone of the film. Slick, insouciant, and clever, the tone and mood compel the dominant impression. George Clooney and Brad Pitt are perfect actors for the film. I like Brad Pitt in movies even more rarely than I do Clooney, but his superficiality works perfectly in the film. Some of my favorite moments are those between Danny Ocean and Rusty. I love the one-sided conversation at a bar where Rusty sits with his head on his arms while Danny questions him and responds as if he actually answered. Its wit is understated in a way we seldom find in movies now. But what makes Ocean's Eleven work is its amorality. The characters of thieves, and they are unapologetically so. We can certainly question what it is about our culture that allows us to celebrate thieves in this way, but the film itself doesn't try to redeem them. It doesn't even raise the question of right and wrong. The characters want money, and while the guy they're stealing from is a jerk and Danny has a personal reason for the job connected to his ex-wife, their motives are still primarily mercenary. The glittering, shallow, witty world of the film would shatter completely did it ever make morality an issue to be considered.

That's the main problem I found with Ocean's Thirteen. (To be honest, I can't even remember Ocean's Twelve, so I can't recall where it falls in this regard.) In Ocean's Thirteen, the characters are engaged in a kind of moral quest--to seek justice for their fallen comrade who has been taken advantage of by another heartless casino owner (Al Pacino, hamming it up big-time). The characters fight for their friend; they sacrifice for their friend. They even give Pacino's character the chance to do the right thing before they rip him off. Viewers are clearly set up to read Danny and company's actions as noble, the right thing to do. As soon as morality is brought to the table, the whole world of the film falls apart. Because these characters are thieves and con-artists, and we are made to take delicious joy in the brilliant ways they steal and decieve. The semblance of honor only deconstructs the shiny, artificial world the first movie created so well.

I don't think characters have to be moral to be interesting. And sometimes explorations of how characters are pulled into immoral action for noble reasons can be fascinating and thoughtful. But in this case it seems to be a cheap way of justifying the theft of millions of dollars (the characters are even giving the money away--look, they're really Robin Hoods!) One thing I think this series of films shows us is how fragile this superficial, amoral world really is. As soon as the characters face real human dilemmas, they come out as looking like nothing but common criminals.

I also miss the perfect pacing of the first film. Ocean's Eleven moved at a leisurely pace, lingering over the clever moments and relishing the glitzy surface of the scenes. The third one moves too quickly, trying to pack as much punch into each scene as possible and thus amping the tone up so much it no longer works. There were some fun moments in the film, but it wasn't anywhere near as effective a film as the first one.

Sacred Objects

This weekend, I encountered an odd pairing of texts. Unexpectedly, they worked really well together. Neither the novel Dracula nor the film Raiders of the Lost Ark were new to me but, in reading and watching them over the last few days, I recognized an interesting similarity. Both texts center on sacred objects, and both of them explore the power of those objects in a particular way. I'm an American Protestant in the Reformed tradition--thus I've never spent much effort into thinking about or appreciating holy objects. But I thought a lot about them this weekend through these two texts, and it has brought up a lot of interesting ideas.

Raiders of the Lost Ark is, of course, about the search for the Ark of the Covenant--and about the dreadful consequences to those who don't believe in the holy power of it. The face melting scene at the climax, after the opening of the ark, is still effective twenty-seven years after the film was released. Indiana Jones is not a Christian--in fact, he claims to be a skeptical scientist. But, in encountering the supernatural, he recognizes the need to hide his eyes from the glory of God. The contents of the ark have turned to dust, but the object itself is still infused with the God's power, and thus only in recognizing its holiness can the characters live.

Dracula is a familiar figure in our culture, and he suffers from overuse and campy characterization. But I'd encourage you to read the 1897 novel by Bram Stoker if you haven't before. It's a fascinating, compelling read, and this late Victorian novel is grounded in the Christian tradition. Vampires as they're portrayed today (in film, television, and innumerable fantasy and romance books), have been pretty well paganized, but the roots of their development in the Western world are quite Christian. To fight vampires, in Stoker and most vampire stories that follow, one needs sacried objects--the crucifix, holy water, the Host from Eucharist. There's a great scene in Dracula when Mina, a good character who has been bitten by Dracula, is touched in the forehead by a holy wafer and it burns a mark onto her skin. Of course, there are other traditions, going far back into folklore, that are connected to fighting vampires as well--represented in the use of garlic and branches of wild roses--so the vampire myth is certainly not fully Christian. But Dracula as a text is founded on Christian faith.

The main characters are Christians, doing their best to fight evil. At one point, Van Helsing says in his imperfect English, "This must not be! We have sworn together that it must not. Thus are we ministers of God's own wish: that the world, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to monsters, whose very existence would defame Him" (Stoker 316). In spite of this belief in their roles in relation to God, the sacred objects in the novel are effective in and of themselves, regardless of the faith of the bearer. Thus, like Raiders, the sacred objects have a power that's distinct, and both texts explore the power of them.

There is a trend, I think, in our culture to take these objects out of their original contexts and portray the power as part of the nature of the object itself rather than in the presence of God. We can see this in most contemporary vampire stories--like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If totally removed from context, the holy objects aren't all that interesting to me--they basically just become magic talismans. But both Dracula and Raiders walk the line between decontextualizing and acknowledging the reality of God's presence within or surrounding the object. Is it truly God's presence melting the faces of the Nazis in Raiders? Theologically, of course, there are some major problems with this premise, but the film leaves the question open. Is God working with the small band of vampire-hunters in Dracula, who are able to destroy the Master Un-Dead through love and sacrifice? Or is it all in the isolated power of the objects themselves? It's really hard to say, which make them fascinating to me. The treatment of the objects in both texts sustains the idea that the objects are holy, sacred--rather than merely magical.

An object can only be holy if a real Power makes it so. Our culture likes the imaginative force of such objects but doesn't want to accept the significance and consequences of the foundational belief. Thus traditionally sacred objects often become magical rather than holy--a necessary distinction that I think a lot of our contemporary storytellers need to further explore.