The Unheard, Unliked Character

On A-Z List 3, Fantasy, I review The Wizard of Oz. It is not one of my favorites, and I actually rather dislike the nightmare-image-inducing book. 

However, the character of the witch reminded me of a common approach to characters--to write about the REAL character, the one suggested between the lines or, for that matter, completely misunderstood by the original author. 

There's a long tradition of such approaches. In some cases, the villain is explained, such as Grendel. In some cases, minor characters come to the fore, such as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern or the Fool in Shakespeare.

Sometimes, the unheard or misunderstood character is used for political reasons. More often, however, I find that the unheard or misunderstood character is being explored for fun! Years ago, when I taught an Intro to College course, I had my students write essays based on role models. In one course, they had to use role models from Tolkien. I was completely okay with them using villains, so long as they made their arguments.

So I got essays about Sauron being able to delegate and Smaug being detail-oriented. 

Great stuff! 

My favorite character of this type is Dracula from Fred Saberhagen's The Dracula Tape. I like it so much because while Dracula defends himself and comes across as not-so-bad, he doesn't utterly lose his core personality. He is still rather wry, interested in history, a tad ruthless, intelligent, and so on...

He blames a number of deaths on Van Helsing too eagerly using "modern" techniques (like blood transfusions) without fully understanding what he is doing. 

Otherwise, when he takes blood, he says, "So, I took a little blood! What of it?!"

Saberhagen went on to write a few books with this Dracula solving cases alongside Holmes (who may in fact be a distant descendant of Dracula, according to Saberhagen). 

History Notes: Dissenters and Atheists in the Eighteenth Century

Non-Conformists

In 1700s England/Britain (the terms were often conflated), religious conflicts were less between Protestants and Catholics and more between established Protestants--Anglicans--and Dissenters/Non-conformists, i.e. Puritans and Evangelicals.

Pamela from Richardson's Pamela is a non-conformist in spirit although she attends/supports the Anglican Church. Her religious feelings/convictions are crucial to the story since they motivate her continual resistance of Mr. B. She does not resist him because she is revolted by sex or afraid of disobeying her parish priest. She resists him because she believes that her status before God is not contingent on her status as a servant. Her master may appoint clergymen; that doesn't give him rights to her soul.

In my novel Mr. B Speaks! Pamela's gainsayers entirely fail to understand the nature and reality of her religious attitudes, falling back instead on cliches about "religious people"; I based these scenes on my own experience in  academe. Academic critics quite often fail to appreciate non-political/non-sociological factors in general, resulting in the rather bizarre black-hole that dogs much literary criticism.

William Wilberforce

Aristocratic gainsayers of Richardson's novel at the time felt the same way. During the 1700s, becoming an Evangelical or Dissenter or Methodist was most common amongst the rising merchant class. In response, the wealthy intelligentsia/upper-classes considered so much religious enthusiasm rather crass and embarrassing. When William Wilberforce converted to evangelicalism in the 1780s, he was (initially) extremely careful not to make his interests widely known and even wondered if a Parliamentary career was out of the question. He was convinced by friends that he would do more good in Parliament than out of it, and of course, he was hugely instrumental in the abolition of the slave-trade by British merchants.

As a member of the wealthy upper-class--though not the intelligentsia--Mr. B has little interest in personal conversion (at least in the first book). However, he would not have endorsed atheism. Although atheism was bandied about eighteenth century English literary circles, belief in the supernatural was too strong for atheism to have any lasting impact. (I am referring specifically to atheism as the deliberate proposal that there is no god or gods rather than as a challenge to orthodoxy/state religion; the second was common in the eighteenth century while the first was practically unheard of; the term "atheist" was sometimes applied to both positions.) The average intellectual was more likely to be a deist than an atheist. It would take another 100 years for atheism to become "cool."

Sir Humphrey laying down the

unwritten rules of society.

In general, Mr. B's attitude can be summed up by a quote from BBC's Yes, Prime Minister. When funds to the arts are challenged, Sir Humphrey is scandalized. When Bernard points out that nobody actually listens to government-funded radio, Sir Humphrey replies, "Well, neither do I! But it's vital to know that it's there!"

This pretty much encapsulates the eighteenth-century, upper-class attitude towards the Church of England: "I may not believe or go or care, but it's vital to know that it's there! (Now please stop harping on and on about it.)"

The Canny Thug

A hilarious variation on the canny dope and canny jerk is the canny thug.

The canny thug is the mugger/thief/drug dealer who has a streak of philosophical insight. My favorite is Marcus Oliver Kemp in Major Crimes' episode "Tourist Trap." He is a Cockney thug, paid to follow a couple to America and kill the husband (those Americans and their guns!). 

When he turns "state's evidence," he reflects on various factors that can end a marriage/relationship, including "even a little bit of success." Lieutenant Tao takes these reflections to heart and determines to stop showing off his television award (he is an advisor on a made-up television show Badge of Justice).

I love how unembarrassingly contemplative Kemp is, even when admitting that he and his ex had "their differences."

Elias in Person of Interest is a more complex variation of this type.

A-Z List 10: Characters, Starting With Taran from Alexander's Chronicles

The next A-Z List will tackle characters, particularly characters who come from books from previous lists.

The list will look at good characters, bad characters, likable characters, relatable characters, and, hopefully, what makes characters good, bad, likable, relatable...

The first character was created by an author from A-Z List 3: Lloyd Alexander. 

I adored The Chronicles of Prydain books growing up. It is the first series I collected and practically the only series until I started to collect manga. I read the books on a summer road trip from New York to California. I occupied the back of the Volkswagen station wagon, which space my father fitted out with blankets and pillows. I loved it! It was like a tiny RV in a long car. And I read the series. 

In all honesty, I picked up the first book because I was a huge Star Wars IV fan and loved Luke Skywalker. Taran's image on the first book reminded me of Luke Skywalker. 

It turns out, my inspiration was appropriate. Taran is an Everyman. He is young, brash, sweet, earnest, curious, surprisingly (unknown to himself) brave and logical, and hunting for answers. He IS Luke!

Alexander wrote a later series, the Westmark trilogy, in which the main male character is quite similar though the series--and therefore, the possible disillusionment and subsequent growth--is somewhat more somber. But Alexander wasn't afraid to let his good guys question themselves, a quality that shows in The Chronicles of Prydain.

Disney made a movie with the title of the second book, The Black Cauldron. Alexander rather humorously stated that he enjoyed the movie even though it bore little resemblance to his book. The movie is presented in The Sword in the Stone tradition and John Huston--who narrated Rankin's The Hobbit--narrates. The movie does capture Taran to a degree but fails to capture his inherent thoughtfulness. 

However, it is notable that male protagonists in American animation are allowed to be uncertain and a little bombastic: imperfect characters who grow. Female protagonists  seem to be fighting for recognition on two fronts--as women and as characters. Understandable but not entirely interesting. From a storytelling perspective, one may need to go anime for female protagonists with an internal arc. 

All the Ms: Mackler to MacManus

Carolyn Mackler: The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things is told by a teen girl with a sassy nature, rather like in Georgia Nicholson's series. It's the kind of book that people think I'll be into–lots of people recommended Veronica Mars to me when it was on television–but I'm not much. I prefer narrators with a little more wryness and willingness to doubt their own doubts.

Patricia MacLachlan: MacLachlan wrote Sarah, Plain and Tall, which I read years ago. I read The Truth of Me this time. I’d forgotten how evocative her writing is. She tackles immensely deep topics in simple sentences–the result sounds practically like poetry. I found the book quite touching. 

Bernard MacLaverty: Midwinter Break is about a believable, middle-age couple with troubles going on vacation. The beginning struck me as one of the better “true life family dysfunction” books I’ve encountered.

Alistair MacLean: The Guns of Navarone is a book I’d heard of (and confused with the movie Kelly’s Heroes. I review Kelly’s Heroes and The Dirty Dozen here). The book is one of those that catapults the reader directly into the middle of an operation run by tough and realistic-sounding soldiers. I've seen the movie since.  

Norman MacLean: “A River Runs Through It” is beautifully written.  

Alison MacLeod: Tenderness is about D.H. Lawrence, the writer, and his book Lady Chatterley’s Lover, specifically the effort to publish it uncensored in the 1960s. I found the opening chapter about Lawrence interesting. I consider Lady Chatterley’s Lover only interesting BECAUSE it was censored and has a court case attached to it.  

Ken Macleod: Learning the World is one of those sci-fi novels that keeps skipping between points of view. I suppose this technique is supposed to be insightful or different or profound or maybe just complex. I don’t know. It makes me tired in the same way that bad formatting makes me tired. The idea behind the book might be engaging but I have to suffer through never knowing who the book is about for several chapters? (Trying to find the next paragraph?) Eh, there’s other things to read. 

Kathleen MacMahon: The Long, Hot Summer is yet another book about contemporary, dysfunctional family life. However, I became aware while reading the prologue, that these contemporary dysfunctional family life books seem to fall into two different categories. The first is what I call Misinterpreted Agatha Christie. Christie’s basic point is that even supposedly dramatic and scandalous life is utterly ordinary at its center. Writers who misunderstand Christie think that all ordinary life must be stripped away to reveal the dramatic scandal. They produce fairly awful movies of Christie's books. 

Along the same lines, books about contemporary family life either focus on the ordinary, no matter how unusual the family, or do what bad Christie movies do: keep burying the reader in drama and scandal.

The first I appreciate. The second makes me sigh, roll my eyes, and move on. The Long, Hot Summer appears to belong to the first category. 

James MacManus: Ike and Kay falls into the category of fictional biography. It explores the relationship between Eisenhower and his driver in London, Kay Summersby. Most biographers maintain that the relationship didn’t have a sexual component. MacManus presents the possibility that it did. I personally don’t buy the premise precisely because Sommersby–and her ghostwriters–kept writing books about her relationship with Eisenhower. It feels rather like Virginie Amelie Gautreau, model for Madame X, trying through more and more portraits to recapture attention after she fell out of style.

Lessons from All the Ms: There's A LOT of Decent Stuff Out There

Not my genre: yet engaging!

One of my A-Z Lists, A-Z List 9, focuses on reading the opening chapters all of the Ms (books by authors whose last names begin with "M") in the fiction section of the local library. 

I mostly stick to the adult fiction section of Portland Public Library, simply to keep myself on track. I pick up books from the YA and children's sections and occasionally include ones from my Kindle. But I mostly stick to PPL Adult Fiction. I will include new books, but I don't force myself to go back. 

And I am learning stuff about fiction!

The first has to do with getting published or, rather, these days, with getting noticed. If you have ever wondered, "Why am I not Stephen King or JK Rowlings in popularity?" below is the reason.

First, a surprising number of new writers think that one publication will push them to glory. When it doesn't happen, they get disillusioned and give up since being the next King or Rowlings was their goal in the first place. I don't really understand this reaction. I find the idea of popularity rather off-putting. However, I don't want to write a diary, and I do believe in writing to an audience. I publish so I can write; I don't write so I can get published.

In fairness, regarding the mentioned authors, one book did make a big difference (Carrie and Harry Potter). In general, however, lots and lots of writers come and go, and though a number of writers steadily publish and have loyal audiences, they aren't common household names. They are either working second jobs or they are living a non-well-off lifestyle. (A horror writer that I knew several years ago--he has since died--made about $30,000 a year off his writing, which is actually quite impressive. At the time--fifteen years ago--I could have lived on that money. He had an ex-wife and kids and couldn't, so he also taught as an adjunct.) 

What about getting published in the first place?

Intend to come back to.

When I wrote this post (several months ago), I had at that time reviewed over 130 books (I am currently about 1/3rd of the way through). Of those 130 books, very few were poorly written; that is, almost all the books were written by people who know how to put words together on the page. 

Of those, say, 120 books that were decently written, I had interest in less than half due to genres/settings/topics. I am partial to mysteries and am not at all picky. I love romances but am very picky. I like fantasy and science-fiction but am even pickier. I detest modern, naval-gazing, "life is a bowl of worms" stories. In sum, although I tried out every book, I put some down faster than others. 

So less than 1/2 were actually things that I would voluntarily read. 

Of that 1/2, less than 1/2 of the 1/2 actually engaged me (a few of the books outside my usual interests did engage me--so a little more than a 1/4 overall were books that engaged me). 

Stuck with me.

Of the 1/4-ish that engaged me, I only went on to finish (or determine to finish later) about 1/2. 

So...of 130 books, I only had interest in about 60. I was engaged by only about 25ish of those books. Of the 25ish, I went on to read (or put on my list to read later or had already read) 12 books.

The issue is not lack of originality or lack of good writing or lack of a plot. That particular number is simply me deciding how to spend my time.

One realizes why so many publishers depend on agents (hey, have someone else do all that work!).

Great Quote by Tolkien

Today, January 3rd, is Tolkien's birthday. 

Below is a quote from Tolkien's preface in the Houghton Mifflin paperback of The Fellowship of the Ring:

The prime motive [for writing The Lord of the Rings] was the desire of a tale-teller to try his hand at a really long story that would hold the attention of readers, amuse them, delight them, and at times maybe excite them or deeply move them. As a guide, I had only my own feelings for what is appealing or moving, and for many the guide was inevitably often at fault. Some who have read the book, or at any rate have reviewed it, have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible; and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or of the kinds of writing that they evidently prefer (xiv)

To hold attention, amuse, delight, excite, and move...

And note the off-the-cuff British *snap* (or at any rate have reviewed it). 

What a wonderful author! And true story-teller!

Books to Movies: The Hobbit Trilogy and a Movie's Pay-offs

"The Return Journey"

The final sequences in The Hobbit trilogy are quite lovely.

 

And WAY too short.

 

I think Jackson may have been worried about the "Han Solo" problem: too many "little Aragorn" moments being used to segue to the next trilogy.

 

Han Solo problem or not, I think Jackson should have provided more bridges to The Lord of the Rings. 

 

More problematically, I think The Hobbit trilogy suffers from a lack of wrap-ups. It doesn't pay off all of its set-ups.

 

When a scriptwriter/director "translates" a book to film, I allow that the scriptwriter/director will/should add in stuff.

 

But if stuff is added in, it needs to be addressed.

 

Take the live action Little Mermaid. The script adds in some really interesting hints--that Eric, the prince, is adopted. That he washed ashore. That he may have some connection in his childhood to the sea.

 

And then...nothing. Those hints are never paid off. It's just additional information to explain him, I suppose.

 

Kili and Tauriel are the same. I pretty much figured that Jackson would keep in Kili's death (he and Fili also die in the book). But I was a little startled at the abruptness. We don't even learn what Tauriel does next. She and the king exchange words; he tells Legolas to find Aragorn and then...

 

Eh?

 

Paying off Tauriel could have been done in any number of interesting ways:

• She goes to Moria with Balin to honor Kili's memory. 
• She takes Kili's stone back to his mum. 
• She carries Kili's stone with her to the Undying Lands.
• She marries Beorn, who goes on in Tolkien's universe to either gather a community or produce kids (the Beornings) though he has no followers or mate or kids in the book.
  
• She marries Bard since they have both lost someone and she gets along with his kids. She becomes the de facto queen of Dale.

The need to pay off Tauriel isn't about romance. It's about storytelling. 

 

Set something up--pay something off.

 

Granted, there are a lot of threads to pay off here. But I would have favored less time on the very boring war and more time on the ending, including a few more relaxed scenes to slow the action down and leave the narrative on a high note. 

 

In the book, for instance, a few dwarfs come to visit Bilbo at the end. Such a scene still could have segued to older Bilbo sitting on the bench smoking his pipe. 

 

Despite my criticisms, I'm a fan of Jackson's. I've mentioned elsewhere that I enjoy viewing multiple interpretations of a text. I get irritated when a movie merely uses the title of a text (that's a lot of wasted money) or (as with Agatha Christie) gets taken over by writers who think they can "improve" on classic ideas. 

 

But I appreciate movies where the creators obviously love the material and have invested in that material. And I love the raw, uneven nature of Jackson's trilogies. They are big and wild and imperfect and absolutely wonderful.

 

On to the next trilogy!

 

Great Sitcom Moment: Running in Airports

In "Wedding Planning," Last Man Standing, Mandy and Eve have a great exchange where Mandy describes the trope of the couple that make up by running to each other in airports. Eve comments that post-9/11, that trope is no longer possible. "The terrorists have made it harder to fall in love."

The episode includes a notable insight by Mandy when she reflects that Ryan "running away" from Boyd and Kristin turned him into a guy who could come back and be a decent father and husband. Generally speaking, deadbeat dads are not usually reformable but Ryan was young enough--and Kristin un-angry enough--to justify their later relationship. I find it entirely plausible that Kristin and Ryan may even have been in contact over the missing years.

The episode also has a great Christmas-New Year's-themed line from Mike when he states, "We've got to figure out how to forgive this boy."

Z is for Zut Alors! or Can a Movie Capture Personality?

I read part of The Masterpiece and then watched the movie Cezanne and Me about Cezanne and Zola.

Zola, author of The Masterpiece, was a member of a group of artists who straddle the emotionalism of Romanticism and the realism of Modernism. He was friends with Cezanne specifically from childhood and although tradition states that they fell out due to The Masterpiece, it is more likely that they fell out due to temperament. (The massive biography I am wading through by Matthew Josephson, published in 1929, makes this argument; I'm always fascinated when a myth continues despite someone arguing against it almost immediately).

The Masterpiece excellently captures the energy, opinions, physical exuberance, self-consciousness, ambition, and male comradery of those early friendships. I became less interested when the book became about the artist's "fall." The book ends with his suicide--hey, it's a classic; readers should know that--which made me sigh. 

Yes, they are all obsessively committed to their art, blah blah blah, but I still consider the long-lived Renoir more interesting. And truthfully, few artists from this time period committed suicide, whatever the demands of their art.

Many artists, by the way, claimed to be the main character, Claude Lantier, so apparently, they are liked the idea of being deeply scarred souls challenging The Establishment. (The painting that Lantier is working on at the beginning of the novel is basically Manet's Luncheon on the Grass.) 

Whatever its plot, The Masterpiece is quite lovely to read, it is so well-written. I'm always envious of writers who can easily convey description without sounding like, well, A.I. (Tolkien has the same ability.)

I intended, initially, to watch the movie to see how it portrayed Cezanne: Accurately? Non-accurately? Accurately according to Zola? Not accurately according to Zola?

However, I changed my mind when it became obvious that although the main character of The Masterpiece may be based partly on Cezanne, it is more likely based on a number of artists, including Manet, and, for that matter, Zola himself.

I then thought that I would watch the movie to connect the character of Sandoz to Zola, but that doesn't really work either. In fact, if the movie is accurate (and Josephson's biography seems to back up the movie), Zola's diffidence and his idealism of women were traits he gave Lantier, the artist, not Sandoz, the writer. Or maybe Zola put himself into every character, even Dubuche, the bourgeois who wants to marry well and live well and not starve in an attic, thank you very much.

The movie Cezanne and Moi impressively captures that possibility--that Zola was writing more about himself in The Masterpiece than about Cezanne. It also captures the  rivalry between the men, the possibility that Zola, at least, realized that Cezanne might eventually become better known than Zola, which is true. Both are seminal figures in their respective fields; generally speaking, Cezanne is more common currency. 

The movie does a decent job capturing the world of artists and writers in that time. In terms of the ultimate question (for almost all these books-to-movies posts), Did the movie capture the personalities of real people? 

Frankly, I didn't think it did. It tried, but unlike with J. Edgar, where I came away with a stronger sense of Hoover despite the movie's flaws, with Cezanne and I, I just came away thinking, "That was very French." A good film. But more about the themes than about the people.

In the next A-Z list, List 10, I will focus on this issue exclusively. How do books and films convey character well or badly? 

Stop the Christie Murder: Christmas & Murder

A popular myth insists that murders occur more around holidays. 

I doubt it. However, the myth is so common that mystery writers regularly use it: put a bunch of non-complementary personalities together in a single house...MURDER! 

*Spoilers*

"The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding" does not entail an actual murder. It is one of those occasions when the detective forces the villain to react by faking a robbery or death or suicide. If the police did it, it would be called entrapment. When private detectives creates these scenarios, they still come off as rather extreme. 

Poirot likes to fool the villains and I often accept the plot device as "hey, that's fun!"

"The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding," however, is a little creepy since the person who supposedly dies is a girl in her early teens. Granted, her "death" is arranged by her and her cousins (to supposedly fool Poirot). But Poirot plays along. It is rather unimaginable that everyone would just laugh and say, "How cute" after the fact rather than punching Poirot in the face. 

The Poirot episode is rather enchanting, however, since it delivers a full plate of English Christmas customs from going to church to singing carols to charades and Christmas crackers.

To avoid Poirot being punched in the face, my prevention detectives reveal that Bridget isn't dead. Moreover, they let the villain get away with the jewel well beforehand. Once they do, they nab the villain for theft. Collected evidence will trace the original theft to him as well. 

Not as exciting! But there are the festivities to get to.

Babette's Feast & Infinite Grace

Babette's Feast is an astonishing movie. 

It praises the desire of the true artist to create and, moreover, to reach an audience with that creation: "Through all the world there goes one long cry of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost."

The movie itself is great art--without being message-loaded or heavy-handed with its themes. 

One major theme is grace, as interpreted by the general--and Martine.

Years ago, the general visited the tiny community, which is comprised of a Calvinist sect and other community members, such as the postmaster/store owner. At the time, the general, Lorens, was a young lieutenant waffling through life. During his visit, he met Martine and fell in love. Yet he was perceptive enough to realize that marriage was more or less out of the question. He returned to court, married a lady-in-waiting, and took his place on the world stage to become a general. 

Years later, he is visiting his aunt, a wealthy woman and patron of the tiny sect. He determines to revisit the group on the birthday of the now-deceased minister, the father of Martine and her sister Philippa. He wants to see if he made the right choice so many years before. 

Unknown to him, Martine and Philippa took in a Frenchwoman, Babette, years earlier when Babette's family was killed during uprisings in Paris in the 1870s. When Babette wins a lottery, she requests the opportunity to prepare a "real French dinner" for the deceased minister's birthday. The sisters don't realize until later that Babette spent all the lottery money (10,000 francs) on the meal (converting historical money is practically impossible but the meal she creates for 12 people is well over $5,000).

From a writing point of view, having the general at the feast provides the viewpoint of an "insider," a connoisseur who knows the value of the wine and caviar, etc. that Babette presents. 

His presence provides a thematic purpose as well. Although Martine is a good religious woman, full of piety as well as fears that the meal will corrupt her deceased father's flock, she is still human and mortal. Although she might dismiss such vain thoughts, having an ex-suitor show up for a simple dinner and coffee would be humiliating. Maybe she shouldn't feel that way, but I dare any person with an ex-lover/suitor/somebody not to feel that way. 

Likewise, if the general had shown up to a simple dinner in a comparative hovel, he likely would have left as conflicted as when he arrived. Should he have abandoned worldly pursuits for a simple life? Wasn't his choice better? Maybe not, but borderline poverty is truly not that attractive. So what did he waste his life on instead? Social climbing? Were there no good options? 

Instead, the general is fed a sumptuous dinner surrounded by simple folk who treat the whole thing as commonplace (to avoid embarrassing the sisters). He is delighted, buoyed up. He brings his worldly knowledge to the banquet, but his worldly knowledge never descends into social posturing. Instead, his approach to the meal inspires others. He focuses on the food, on the company, on the experience. (He also gives Babette a chance to satisfy not only the women she loves and the villagers she cares for but a man who recognizes the brilliance of her creations.)

At the end of the meal, he gives a remarkable speech in which he declares, "Grace is infinite." He came expecting to perform a bargain with his past self. Instead, he concludes "that which is chosen is granted us, and that which we have refused is also and at the same time granted us." The impossible is possible. 

Before he leaves, he declares his love to Martine again--to which she responds. They aren't going to marry, but neither is their love the love of saints or artists (those loves are tackled in the film too). Their love is the romance of lovers, and it is part of all life, all heaven. Why shouldn't it exist as well? 

This is the grace of a God I gladly believe in.  

Do Murders Truly Increase in December?

A common mystery trope is that murders increase in December due to forced family togetherness. It is similar to the Halloween myth that insists that more accidents and murders occur around Halloween, when in fact, Halloween is not any more or less dangerous--in outcomes--than any other time of the year. (I'm reminded of the irritated evil vampires in Buffy who consider Halloween so tacky, they stay indoors.) 

The Halloween myth came about in part due to newsworthy poisonings that occurred on Halloween. In both cases, the death was due to family members adding poison to the candy AFTER the child returned home. So the connection between forced family togetherness and crime could have merit. 

One Thanksgiving, another time of forced family togetherness, my father had to go the emergency room for a cut on his hand. The place was practically deserted. Remarkable, how suddenly everybody was slightly too well not to need emergency care (I did wonder what the day AFTER Thanksgiving was like). As for family togetherness, my dad and Mom and I all went together!

Since personal observations are useful but not enough, I decided to check out the numbers.

Would crime statistics reveal that Christmas is a homicidal time of year? O a relatively safe one? 

According to the Council on Criminal Justice, homicides in 29 U.S. cities in 2023 in December were by no-means low, but July and August were FAR higher. 

I guess it's a lot easier to kill people when one doesn't have to perform the escape plan of putting on the long-johns and snow pants and boots and mittens and ear muffs and a winter jacket...

November is also quite low. So forced family togetherness is not the culprit but isolation or lack of options may be. 

The circled area is homicides in Nov. 2019-Jan. 2020.

Homicides did increase in several cities during lock downs.

 

Dark Christmas: The Nightmare Before Christmas

I confess--I didn't watch this movie until recently. I'm not a huge fan of stop-action animation. And I don't much care for skinny stick figures. 

What is remarkable, however, is how easily Jack's stick figure conveys personality. He is another of those laid-back heroes!

I also consider the problem quite remarkable: Jack's profound desire to do more, to expand, to try out new possibilities, to embrace (as Sally recognizes) a new chance.

Unfortunately, the problem rather gets lost. The end of the movie comes across more as Jack accepting his status/holiday than Jack revitalizing a stale bunch of customs. Or, maybe, it's supposed to be about Jack learning to love his own holiday....? I honestly couldn't tell. The audience is never shown the "new" Halloween filled with fresh ideas. 

The overall point, here, however, is that Christmas has always had this dark side--ghosts, demons, death. 

In some Christian churches, the altar and windows and pews before Easter are draped in black. When Easter arrives, they are unveiled. Christmas and the Winter Solstice achieve a similar effect through natural phenomenons. Although several months of winter are still pending, darkness gives way to the light. 

And changeovers always produce gray areas. Topsy-turvy. Tales about the mischief at Yuletide abound! Burton isn't the first writer to kidnap Santa Clause. Frank L.Baum wrote a similar short story that evokes much the same sense of disorderliness. And in the Chronicles of Narnia, Father Christmas's reappearance indicates that the Queen's "don't step out of line" social order is crumbling in preparation for a far more satisfying and joyous social order.

I don't know if being a musical makes Nightmare less or more topsy-turvy, but horror musicals are also quite common: Repo the Genetic Opera, Sweeney Todd and even the second half of Into the Woods.

In any case, the "sing because you are shouting back against the dark as Nowell thankfully arrives" aspect is entirely in keeping with December holidays. 

Books to Movies: Y is for Why Authenticity?

How authentic does authentic need to be?

Windwalker, the novel, was written by Blaine M. Yorgason. The movie stars two white dudes, in part because the initial principal actor, a Native American who would play the older Windwalker, got ill. (Windwalker's son is played by a Native American.)

And yet...

The movie feels quite "authentic," if such a thing matters and isn't kind of arrogant in the first place (the idea of "pure" cultures is an idea that really needs to go; there is no such thing; everything is impacted by something else).

But still, even by today's standards, it is more honest than many films. The film's characters use the Cheyenne and Crow languages (aside from the narrator's English). The story is told without reference to outside white people, not even as a lesson about how white people are supposed to think or as a showcase for how the "good" white people behave or how the "bad" white people are punished (I've said before--I'll say again--it's amazing how many white academics have managed to make the history of the world all about them, either in terms of white behavior or in terms of explaining white behavior, feeling guilty for white behavior, blaming white behavior, defining groups in contrast to white behavior...).

The setting is especially authentic as in it uses the actual American West, rather than, say, someplace in Eastern Europe. 

Most importantly, the movie is quite beautifully shot. I honestly expected something more kitschy and, well, uh, 80's looking. It's possible that the free version on Amazon has been remastered; if so, someone did a loving job. The movie is kind of slow but appealing. 

As for the book...

Despite an introduction by two Native Americans, John C. Rainer, Jr. and Verenda Dosela Rainer, Cheyenne and Apache, I had my doubts about the book. For one, the "all Indians love nature" motif is one of those "that culture is so much better than our culture" tropes I tend to be skeptical of on principle. For another, the protagonist's poetry/dialog, which encapsulates a series of learning experiences, is not exactly my choice for fiction.

However, the love of nature is a love of all nature, not just the sweet side. The starving wolves, the cold and slippery snow, the old man's initial struggles and final illness are matter-of-factly conveyed. If one is going to embrace creation, one should embrace all of it.

The learning experiences are the product of the protagonist's personality. They are part of the story rather than sermons aimed at the reader. The book is more Siddhartha than after-school special. (Still not my type of thing, but I give it kudos for doing its job.)

In fact, the end is quite touching. I got weepy as the old man reached the end of his life. As the book's introduction states, "[The Windwalker] is the story of age, its wisdom and memories."

Both book and movie exemplify a quality that I think ultimately communicates itself through any medium: the love of the author (director, scriptwriter) for the topic. 

That love is the ultimate authenticity.

Books to Movies: The Battle of the Five Armies, Boring War Bits, and How to Make a Scene Memorable

"The Gathering of the Clouds"

The politics of Thorin being unwilling to open up his property to suddenly needy neighbors is very intelligent. Does he owe Bard? Yes. Does he owe the Elvenking? Not really but Bilbo is right that there is plenty to go around. Is he afraid of exposing himself up to scavengers when his own position is still insecure? Yes. 

 

Thorin has legitimate fears though his obsession and refusal to negotiate (Bard is being entirely rational) doesn't help matters. It's very smart writing, and Jackson--using Tolkien's material almost directly--prepares us for Thorin's intransigence. He also gives Thorin relatively strong arguments--"Why should we barter our birthright?"--while still underscoring Thorin's mistakes. Richard Armitage as Thorin and Luke Evans as Bard are two of the strongest characters in the two trilogies, and their exchange at the gate of Erebor is impressive.

 

The book does use more lore and mythic tropes in this section, such as talking birds. Jackson was wise not to. Again, set-up equals pay-off. Once you've got one talking bird...

 

Even Jackson's eagles don't talk, which I've always rather liked: they are forces of nature, not partners.

 

"The Clouds Burst"

 

is the war chapter. One chapter! In the movie, it is nearly 40 minutes long. I don't see the point. 

 

I've said it before, I'll say it again: the bomb in Die Hard is seriously still the best action sequence in all action movies.

 

One major difference between the book and movie--other than the length of the battle sequences--is that Bilbo in the book observes but doesn't participate. In the movie, he gets to the top of Ravenhill to warn Thorin and is present when Thorin is killed (as well as Kili and Fili). It's actual a decent pay-off for Bilbo having the ring, so I approve, even if the war sequence is way too long. 

Granted, the final scene and lines between Thorin and Bilbo are fantastic and memorable in both book and movie. 

I will maintain, however, that they would be more memorable if the battle sequences didn't go on QUITE so long and if so many deaths weren't already piling up. Thorin and Bilbo by this point are competing with Fili and Kili's deaths. 

 

In the book, those deaths are mentioned, but herein lies the conundrum of film. In the book, the brothers die and we can feel sad but in a distant sort of way. In the movie, we have learned to care about Kili and Fili for themselves (and needed to). Subsequently, their deaths in the movie might have overshadowed Thorin's if not for the impressive acting of the leads.

 

It's the same problem as Bilbo leaving the Mountain. Has the scene been given enough weight? Too much? 

 

The battle sequences in Five Armies seem rather like video game sequences. This, then this, then this, then this. There's so many "astonishing" moments when really, there should be three: 

• Thorin emerging with his group from the Mountain
• The eagles
• Thorin's death.

Eliminating all the extra-special astonishing moments helps the one or two important astonishing moments shine!

 

In fairness, I find war sequences boring in general. I prefer war movies like The Guns of Navarone that are about getting to the object. The first half of the Five Armies movie is quite good and captivating. From that point on, I start to do things like clean my nails and feed my cats. However, since I don't find war sequences-or the game of Risk--that engaging, it isn't entirely fair for me to assess them.