It's astonishing--absolutely astonishing! (Scroll down in Free Press's article for the video.)
Books to Movies: The Desolation of Smaug, Sometimes the Movie Can Explain Things
The beginning of The Desolation of Smaug explains a great deal. For one, it establishes a more political subtext for the dwarfs' return to Erebor than occurs in the book (though political subtexts are implied in the book)--as well as the need for the Arkenstone. And quite frankly, the movie additions make more sense than Tolkien's "uh, we're going to get some treasure" quest. A burglar was never going to steal 14-people's worth of stuff! But a burglar could retrieve a jewel representing kingship.
Arguably, Tolkien didn't need to explain the quest in the book. As Tanith Lee points out in The Dragon Hoard, going to face down a dragon and recover treasure is as much a given as looking for a pirate hoard. The book is about Bilbo going on an adventure in which expected (and well-crafted) fairy tale tropes appear.
Regarding those fairy tale tropes, I get the impression that Tolkien enjoyed writing Beorn and his house and his folktale persona more than just about every other part of The Hobbit. He spends a fair amount of time on Beorn, just as he spends a fair amount of time on the folk/mythical character Tom Bombadil in Fellowship.
Jackson skips Bombadil. He keeps Beorn, for good reason. Great character! In addition, in the movie, this character furthers Jackson's plot points. Beorn helps the dwarfs. He also gives Gandalf information that increases Gandalf's worries about Azog and the Necromancer, who is directly linked to Azog. Gandalf's necessary departure from the dwarfs and Bilbo is established.
A book can spend more time exploring the world rather than moving through it. A movie needs to quickly establish WHY the moving-through-it needs to occur.
What are the stakes?
Humans Connect Emotion to Everything
The Baskerville robot dog in Elementary--that falls through a tarp and injures its leg--always makes me very, very sad. Poor killing machine! Poor, limping, killing machine! Someone take it home, fix it up, and give it a bath...in motor oil, of course.
.JPG)
Books to Movies: Damon Runyon and Can a Movie Capture the Narrator?
Damon Runyon's tales are quite reliant on the narrator. "Madame La Gimp," specifically, is funny precisely because of the deadpan narrator.
The short story has been made into several movies, two by Frank Capra: Lady for a Day and Pocketful of Miracles. Pocketful of Miracles is way too long, so much so the joke gets lost (a bunch of gangsters pretend to be high society folks to fool Spanish nobility who come from a small town and don't care).
But Pocketful has Peter Falk as Joy Boy, the head gangster's factotum, who watches the wild pretense with insouciance while delivering deadpan reactions. In fact, early on, Joy Boy has a voice-over which dryly establishes the premise.
Unfortunately for the movie, the voice-over rapidly disappears. Voice-overs are their own problem area since explaining is the opposite of showing (and a movie is all about showing). In this case, I think the lack is regrettable. Every time Peter Falk shows up on the screen, he is hilarious, even if he is just standing there and rolling his eyes. He has a Charles Grodin ability to evoke the audience's sympathy as the observer. His facial expressions and tone match Runyon's written narrator, and Falk was nominated for the role of supporting actor.
But again, unfortunately, the story and story's voice is sacrificed to...I'm not sure what. Capra reputedly wasn't as directly involved in Pocketful as in his other films, precisely because of all the big names. The lack of a strong story arc run by a single strong main protagonist (with the narrator dragging us back to the strong story arc) shows.
 |
| The nurse is in the movie--she plays a |
| a very minor role |
The Poirot movie moves her to the sidelines, possibly to highlight Suchet as Poirot. The plot is mostly kept. But is the plot what makes the story so fantastic?
Hmmm--maybe. But without the narrator, it's another Poirot movie--with the wonderful Suchet--not that story with the idiosyncratic narrator.
"You're Not God" the Cliche
 |
| But Morgan Freeman should be God! |
"You shouldn't have risked that procedure. You don't have the right to play God."
"It's not your fault the patient croaked. We're not God."
It may have its origins in jokes about doctors and God (What's the difference between God and a doctor? God doesn't think he's a doctor.)
Cliches are not automatically bad, but this one is fairly meaningless. "You're not God" seems to be shorthand for "How dare you make life and death decisions about people!"
Presumably anyone who makes decisions about people's health & safety is acting like a god: homecare workers, DMV driving test examiners, insurance agents...
And since such decisions these days are hemmed about with dozens of regulations, the ability to actually carry out those decisions (as people who make decisions for elderly parents can attest) is less godlike and more bureaucratic rabbit-hole-like.
However, it does have one good pay-off for the cliche:
"Where's the line?" Brenda demands of the death-dealing/organ-stealing doctor. "Who gave you the right to play God?"
"The position was vacant," the doctor replies after a pause.
It's better than the usual dialog that contains this accusation (and the actors do as well with it as they can).
But still...
Don't Entail Smentail, Me! The Difficulty of Entails in Persuasion and Persuadable
The ending of my book Persuadable is a rebuttal to the ending of the Persuasion (2007) film.
At the end of Persuasion (2007), Captain Wentworth buys Anne's family home. The film correctly indicates that part of Anne's attraction to Mr. Elliot, or at least her attraction to marrying him, is that she will be able to live in her family home. By buying her family home, Captain Wentworth resolves that dilemma (Anne doesn't have to give up anything for love!).
Unfortunately, having Captain Wentworth buy Kellynch Hall makes mincemeat of the plot.
An argument could be made that Sir Walter's vanity won't allow him to give up the manor; the solution still begs the question: Why would he suddenly be willing to sell at the end of Persuasion (2007)? (There is a possible explanation; the film just never supplies it.)
 |
| A possible Kellynch Hall from JASA. |
To explain Mr. Elliot's behavior, many movies make him (relatively) poor/in need of funds. This, of course, begs the question of why a poor Mr. Elliot would be chasing after women with small dowries and an estate encumbered with debt. However, even if we assume that Kellynch Hall, unencumbered, could bring in a decent income, there is still an underlying problem:
THE ENTAIL
They can be broken, which the passage below discusses in some detail. However, Persuasion (2007) makes no effort to explain how the entail was broken, leaving the viewer to wonder what everyone has been fussing about for 120 minutes. Captain Wentworth just, you know, walked into an estate office one day and, like, said, like, "Oh, hey, I'll buy that."
My primary problem with Persuasion (2007)--which does have some redeeming points--is this assumption of dumbness by viewers. The writers come across as people writing for Austen fans, not as fans themselves: Oh, those Austen fans are silly airheads who only read Austen for the cutesy romance and the girl-talk and don't pick up on anything else.
Sites like The Republic of Pemberley and JASA (above) disprove this cynical painting of such fans. Jane Austen fans (and romance writers/readers) are remarkably well-informed.
I would have preferred Persuasion (2007) to have been written by true fans rather than by people-trying-to-make-the-fans-happy.
Setting aside the film, if you want to know how to really break an entail, read the following passage from Persuadable!
Captain Wentworth eyed [Will and Penelope] as they entered [the drawing room of their house]. Anne curtsied; Penelope responded quickly. Will returned Captain Wentworth’s curt bow, then stood behind Penelope’s chair. His stance mirrored Captain Wentworth’s. His use of mimicry, Penelope had learned in the last three years, was a protection against outsiders. She was an insider.
“You received my letter,” Captain Wentworth said to Will.
“You wish to discuss breaking the entail to the Kellynch Hall property.”
“Sir Walter’s health is failing. He has moved permanently to Bath. He is willing to break the entail for his daughter’s sake.”
Penelope scarcely believed it—the man’s self-love was so bound up in his ancestry—but then she realized that his self-love had always been as much for the form as for the substance. All said and done, Kellynch Hall was a means to an end.
Besides, attempting to break the entail would spite Will: Better his daughter in Kellynch Hall than the despised cousin.
“Are you committed to inheriting Kellynch Hall?” Captain Wentworth asked Will.
“It’s a pleasant area,” Will said.
“You don’t strike me as a countryman,” Captain Wentworth said.
No. Will was no countryman. After all, Penelope remembered, Captain Wentworth manages men on his ship; he isn’t lacking in perception.
Captain Wentworth continued: “Are you sure you would be accepted in Kellynch?”
His eyes didn’t flicker towards Penelope, but Will said sharply, “I believe the populace would be well-satisfied with the Hall’s lord and lady.”
Across from Penelope, Anne tilted her head. For the first time in their acquaintance, she looked at Penelope with real interest. Her eyes drifted to Will who had slouched to a half-seat on the arm of Penelope’s chair. So, her gaze seemed to say, you are not just opportunists.
Penelope said smoothly, “Town life certainly has more to offer.”
“We are country-folk,” Captain Wentworth said and settled into one of the armchairs. Apparently, he had decided that Penelope and Will were sensible people who would listen to reason. “Once I leave the navy, my wife and I would prefer a country residence. Kellynch Hall would be very much to our taste. We want to acquire it.”
Penelope silently applauded Captain Wentworth. Any other husband of a baronet’s daughter would have kept up the pretense of a friendly, non-financial visit for hours. The horror of appearing vulgar!
Captain Wentworth continued, “Since the entail has to be renewed in your lifetime, Mr. Elliot, this is a chance to review your options. And since renewal may not be possible—”
Because Will and Penelope currently had no son, and Jennie [Will and Penelope's daughter] could not inherit. The Wentworths weren’t fools; they were going to press their advantage now, even if it meant dancing around their dislike of Will and Penelope. At least, Captain Wentworth disliked them. Anne seemed more curious than disgusted.
“My husband will not give up the title,” Penelope said.
She felt Will’s bright gaze on her, but she didn’t look away from Captain Wentworth’s speculative stare.
“Do you think of yourself as a baronet?” Captain Wentworth said to Will in a tone that suggested he didn’t think Will merited any title, including “captain.”
“Of course Sir Walter’s cousin should inherit the title,” Anne said quickly. “You are my father’s heir, Mr. Elliot.”
To give the Wentworths credit, Penelope doubted they cared about the title. In the City, however, a title could open doors for Will. And Penelope saw no reason why he should give up what was rightfully his.
Will said, “Penelope’s father, Mr. Shepherd, should be kept on as manager.”
“He’s too good to let go,” Captain Wentworth said. His tone added: Despite his daughter’s scandalous behavior.
Penelope resisted rolling her eyes. She knew how to play this game. Everyone brought deficiencies to the table and every deficiency had a cost. My scandalous behavior versus Anne’s non-male gender. Anne’s lack of maleness cost her more than scandalous behavior ever cost Penelope; Penelope didn’t see why she should allow anyone to forget that.
She said, “Since only my husband can break this entail, we expect to be compensated. The property is nearly disencumbered of debt. It will make a tidy profit in a few years’ time.”
Anne leaned forward, her eyes filled with the quiet speculation that marked this middle Elliot daughter. Anne knew that Penelope had no real tie to or love for Kellynch; Anne would remember how quickly Penelope left it behind the first time.
For Will, Penelope might endure it. But Will had no interest in playing squire. However much he liked the idea of a country estate, he’d never bother with the day-to-day. He would hire a qualified agent (who only skimmed slightly off the accounts) and move on to another endeavor.
Penelope could direct his energies better elsewhere. The Wentworths would get all the unpleasant noblesse oblige of being estate landlords while Will and Penelope stayed in London and watched its neighborhoods grow. The Wentworths would thrive, Penelope assumed. Kellynch Hall was their type of place.
She thought fiercely: I want Will to thrive.
She turned back to Anne. Anne, still leaning forward, gave her a seraphic smile, and Penelope realized, Sir Walter’s unappreciated daughter is getting everything she wanted. Well, well, Miss Anne Elliot. Good for you.
Captain Wentworth said, “It is still encumbered, however. That should be a consideration.”
Will laughed. He tapped Penelope’s shoulder, rose, crossed to the decanter, and poured himself a glass. He held out another to Captain Wentworth who took it after only a slight pause.
Détente.
Books to Movies: Acting is a Job
Acting is a job.
I can also never forget that actors are always looking for work.
The Bridgerton series on Netflix, based on the same novel series by Julia Quinn, uses the premise that George III, played sweetly by James Fleet, married a woman with possible African ancestry. This possibility is highly unlikely. However, it expands casting to black actors.*
Regarding Bridgertons, I mostly don't mind. I thought that Regé-Jean Page made a great Darcy-type (the Simon Bassett character). I think Adjoa Andoh makes a fantastic Lady Danbury. If the British ARE going to keep producing these Jane Austen-type pieces, might as well expand them so more people can get work.
Does a made-up history result in people missing THOSE stories?
From the point of view of employment, I suppose what matters is that parts are out there.
*Murdoch Mysteries and Sister Boniface take an interesting approach here--they increase the percentages. Many Sister Boniface episodes involve celebrities visiting the small village of Great Slaughter. And in truth, in the 1960s, many black actors and actresses and singers were television celebrities (see Sidney Poitier, Nichelle Nichols plus performers, including Nat King Cole, on the Ed Sullivan Show). And, regarding Murdoch Mysteries, there were in truth far more black doctors and dentists and business owners in the early 1900s than current histories of the Western world might suggest. The numbers are greater on Murdoch Mysteries and Sister Boniface but historical reality is not being tampered with.
Historical Fiction and the Tipping Point of Belief
In the novel Robots of Dawn by Isaac Asimov, Asimov's detective Elijah Bailey has to investigate a murder on the planet, Aurora. On his way to Aurora, Elijah reads books of Aurorian history/sociology, etc. However, when he arrives, he discovers that the books didn't prepare him for basic, everyday stuff, such as public bathrooms being unisex. This basic, everyday stuff never occurred to the historians/sociologists because it's the kind of stuff they take for granted.
This is the fundamental difference between historical fiction and fiction written in a historical period. No matter how hard we try, we can never really capture the same feel or attitudes of writers like Austen, Dickens, and Walter Scott because we aren't products of their time periods, and we don't know what to take for granted.
When PBS was running its House series, stuff-for-granted was an ongoing issue. Interestingly enough, the best of the series (1940s and Manor House) insisted that the participants follow certain rules. The participants weren't just stuck in a time period and expected to enjoy/endure it. They had to agree to comply with appropriate social protocols (the servants had to behave as and do the work of servants; the WWII family had to endure air-raids and suffer food privations).I think writers of historical fiction can capture the tone and feel of a time period's mindset. I think they can even give us insights into that mindset. I also think it can never be a perfect fit. While writing Mr. B Speaks! (a tribute to Pamela), I entertained the possibility that my hero would make a dismissive statement about politicians (whom he doesn't care for) by referring to Wilberforce and "those yapping members" who won't shut up about slavery.
I couldn't do it, partly because actually my hero wouldn't care about slavery one way or the other (none of his money is invested in the West Indies), partly because his wife would likely support Wilberforce, but also because from a modern 21st century point of view, such an attitude makes him an awful human being. I could argue that as a product of his culture, the hero would have perceived Wilberforce and his supporters (whom I admire) as simply one cause/voice/idea amongst many, but that knowledge doesn't leap the empathy gap.
Black Adder was brave enough to tackle this idea. In Black Adder the Third, when Baldrick runs for Parliament, this conversation ensues between a fellow politician and a (real) television journalist:
Ivor Biggun: We're for the compulsory serving of asparagus at breakfast, free corsets for the under-5s and the abolition of slavery.Still, historical fiction can never completely mesh with the mindset of a historical time period, no matter how brave the writer.
Vincent Hanna, His Own Great Great Great Grandfather: I'm sure many moderate people would respect your stand on asparagus, but what about all this extremist nonsense about abolishing slavery?
Ivor Biggun: Oh, that! We just put that in for a joke! See you next year!
Which doesn't mean it shouldn't try.
So I quite like Ellis Peters' Cadfael series because although Cadfael is a trifle progressive for his time period, Peters never fails to bring him back to a core reality. And she only allows him to be progressive over issues that were raised in that time period. And, as a monk, he is a true believer. (Peters knew how to write 1960's "all spiritual beliefs are relative" stuff; she didn't do it with Cadfael because it wouldn't have been accurate, and she was a reputable historian.)
In comparison, I get mighty tired of books where women become suffragettes/pro-women's rights/pro-contemporary-progressive-issues without having to suffer any of the actual consequences of the time period and/or without understanding their choices from within the mindset of the time period. (That type of characterization can be done; it's just very difficult.) I couldn't stand The Red Tent because the women were so hopelessly modern and the men so hopelessly not. Geez, people, if you're going to play this game, play it fair.
Back to books I get tired of: those which simply transfer modern arguments to historical settings. I gave up on one author over dialog supposedly taking place in approximately 100 C.E.; the exchange sounded like that between between a modern-day "free thinker" and modern-day fundamentalist. (The author also had the characters use and refer to the Christian Cross as if it meant the same thing to them as it does to us in the same way after 2000 years of Christian iconography. Um, no.)
On the other hand, I quite like Deanna Raybourn's Lady Julia series. She may take a few liberties, but the attitudes are consistent and don't take sudden leaps into implausibility. I feel the same way about C.S. Harris' Sebastian St. Cyr mysteries.
In any case, the "oh, that doesn't work!" wince is different for everyone. It may depend on what history you have read; it may just depend on what feels right at the gut level. But it's there. As long as there is historical fiction (may it continue forever), the tipping point of belief/disbelief won't ever go away.
All the Ms: Machen to Mack
Maciel, Amanda: Lots of teen novels deal with teenagers being jerks to each other. Tease is one. It’s somewhat more interesting than usual since it is from the perspective of one of the bullies. I didn’t continue since “After School Special” keeps flashing through my head with these books. But lots of teens love them.
MacInnes, Helen: I’d heard of MacInnes but didn’t know the genre. It’s spy literature. Since the only spy novels/shows I like are comedies, including spoofs, I didn’t continue, but the book did get me thinking. Spy literature is still going strong but it had a kind of hey-day in the mid-twentieth century (Above Suspicion was published in 1941). Agatha Christie wrote some. Ian Fleming, of course. The first Mrs Pollifax was published in 1966. And so on.
Mack, Karen and Jennifer Kaufman: Freud’s Mistress is the fictional telling of the true-life relationship between Freud’s wife’s sister and Freud, which may or may not have included an affair. The book’s first chapter details the awfulness of life for women in the late nineteenth century (more awful, in some ways, for someone like Minna, who resided between the upperclass and the peasant or working class: as the Bronte sisters would attest, being a governess or lady’s maid was fairly dreadful work). I’ve never been particularly interested in Freud, so I didn’t go further than the designated chapter/page count.
Mack, W.C. Despite not getting into The Screech Owls’ book (see prior post), I did find Mack’s Athlete vs. Mathlete about twins and basketball quite engaging–so the issue might be the tone or the perspective, not the topic.
Spoofs of Academe in Pamela Tribute, Mr. B Speaks!
Mr. B Speaks! is partly a spoof. Mr. B has to defend his marriage to Pamela against a group of academics, and I used their objections/conversation to spoof a number of silly academic ideas/behaviors I've encountered as both a student and an instructor.
My primary spoof is of "just call me Gary" Gary. Gary is the type of professor who thinks he is edgy and contemporary and prides himself for climbing on the latest political bandwagon. Unfortunately, Gary is not a complete construct (an image of a pompous academe rather than a representative of actual academic members). I've met Gary. The following passage from Mr. B Speaks! summarizes Gary's attitudes:
Dorothy is Gary's nemesis. She is a young reviewer of romance novels, and she mirrors the attitude of a number of my students. They are completely blithe about their place/role in society. The young women don't feel put-upon. They take for granted that a woman can do whatever she wants in terms of a career/future. They don't feel the need to back "women's" issues or vote to support only female politicians.
From my point of view, the Dorothys of the world are what feminism is all about! However, someone like Gary--a chauvinist who thinks he isn't because he adopted the right "feminist" attitudes back in the 60's--the Dorothys of the world are a massive, scary threat.
In the courtroom, there is also a gruff judge (who prefers murder mysteries and is only sitting in judgment on an eighteenth-century novel because so many eighteenth-century novels are under attack), a therapist (member of the Committee for Literary Fairness who wants to personalize everything), and Lonquist, a librarian. Lonquist is a member of Readers for Authorial Intent. His job is to pose (my) objections to literary revisionism. In the following exchange, the Committee for Literary Fairness wants contemporary--that is, their--standards applied to Pamela.
My primary spoof is of "just call me Gary" Gary. Gary is the type of professor who thinks he is edgy and contemporary and prides himself for climbing on the latest political bandwagon. Unfortunately, Gary is not a complete construct (an image of a pompous academe rather than a representative of actual academic members). I've met Gary. The following passage from Mr. B Speaks! summarizes Gary's attitudes:
"The whole novel is nothing but trite and shallow pandering,” Gary declaimed. “What about death, disease, poverty, slavery, racism—all the terrible issues of the eighteenth century? Hmm? I mean women couldn’t even vote! But no, we’re fixated on watching an inconsequential couple tie the knot. People hid their heads in the sand. Just like they do today.”Deborah said, “That sounds like the end of a lecture,” and Gary reddened.
 |
| "I feel like punching them in the face." |
| --Feminist Mike Baxter, who would |
| punch Gary for telling Dorothy she |
| can't do/believe what she wants. |
From my point of view, the Dorothys of the world are what feminism is all about! However, someone like Gary--a chauvinist who thinks he isn't because he adopted the right "feminist" attitudes back in the 60's--the Dorothys of the world are a massive, scary threat.
Gary was trying to reprimand the young, romantic girl, Deborah. Personally, Mr. B would try flirting with her, but the man just blathered on about himself.“So,” Mr. B heard the ridiculous man say, “I guess you’re one of those young ladies who adores authors like Jane Austen.”“Sure,” Deborah said.“I will grant, she is an important female writer.”“Walter Scott believed no author matched Jane Austen at describing ordinary life and personalities.”“Yes. Well. But won’t you admit that despite her ability and her importance to women’s literature, Austen was mired in middle class values?”Mr. Shorter, Mr. B's solicitor, leaned over to Mr. B and said, “What kind of gallantry is that man employing?”“He isn’t,” Mr. B said, rubbing his temples. “He’s Polonius.”“I like middle class values,” Deborah said.“Of course you would say that,” the professor said in an irritated voice. Apparently, the professor didn’t like being contradicted.And Mr. B was against female free-thinkers?The professor said snippily, “I bet you wish you were Elizabeth, hmm, being chased by that handsome Darcy?”“Not really,” Deborah said. “A lot of women do read books that way. And men too. Sort of what would I do? But I like to explore the author’s characterizations. Like Mr. B is way more of a homebody than most people picture him. Of course, he served in Parliament, but I think that was just out of a sense of obligation.”Mr. Shorter snorted, but Mr. B couldn’t disagree. Except that a home without Pamela wasn’t much of a home.“I’m sure Mr. B is quite conservative in his politics,” the professor said disdainfully.“You could ask him,” Deborah said.There was a short silence. Mr. B smiled to himself. The professor was a coward. He probably gravitated to female scholars because they were less trained in rhetoric and therefore easier to bully.Deborah said, “Or Leslie Quinn. She might know.”Some female scholars, that is. Mr. B laughed out loud. He glanced over his shoulder.The professor was crimson. He didn’t look at Mr. B but hunched his shoulders and glared at Deborah, who was trying not to giggle. “I suppose progressive thinking is too much to ask from computer-obsessed students.”Mr. Shorter muttered, “These Literary Fairness folks aren’t the most tolerant people.”
The "I'm pro-woman--how dare a woman contradict me with her conservative ideas!" attitude is, I'm sorry to say, a real response from both men and women.
Leslie Quinn and Dr. Matchel (another member of the Committee for Literary Fairness) represent the two sides of Women's Studies, Dr. Matchel representing the negative or more narrow side. I'm actually kinder to her than I am to Gary because, like many disenchanted feminists, I believe that Women Studies started out with good intentions. I even believe there are decent Women Studies scholars out there. (Molly Haskell examines film from a gender studies perspective: she is also a true aficionado of film.)
But the need to have an agenda/political purpose has hurt more than helped that discipline.
Dr. Matchel, for example, is the kind of feminist who will support a CAUSE, no matter how very faulty, simply because it is supposedly pro-women. Thus her attitude towards Deborah--
Dr. Matchel cried, “These romance novels have done more to undermine women’s rights than any other type of literature.”“Oh, that’s old-school,” Deborah said. “Like people who think women should only have supported Hillary in 2008.”
Again, Dr. Matchel is quite real. The above exchange is based on an actual exchange I saw on PBS during the 2008 Democratic convention.
Dr. Matchel is off-set by Leslie Quinn, who has the right academic credentials but writes for the popular rather than academic press (i.e. she actually makes money at her writing). Dr. Matchel and Gary's contempt for "popular" writers is, unfortunately, also quite real as is their discomfort with people who haven't jumped through all the right academic hoops and don't regularly deploy academically approved labels.
Gary said sullenly, “I would think some contemporary standards would be accepted as givens—in a civilized courtroom, at least.”“Which contemporary standards?” Lonquist said. “Based on twenty-first-century Western culture, Mr. B can hardly be faulted for wanting no-strings-attached sex.”The judge barked, “We will use the standard of customs as established in the eighteenth century. Was lesbianism a discussed topic in the literature of the day?”Dr. Matchel said, “It was a forbidden topic that nevertheless underscored most women’s writings.”Leslie Quinn said, “No.”Dr. Matchel bridled. “Of course, popular non-fiction ignores such crucial subtexts.”Leslie Quinn said good-humoredly, “Oh, I’m not saying that homosexuality wasn’t an aspect of eighteenth-century England or that people never discussed it. I just don’t think eighteenth-century literature is imbued with hidden messages about the love that dare not speak its name. People do write about other things, you know.”“They were prejudiced,” Gary said.“So you’ll use eighteenth-century culture to promote your position, then attack it to defend your position?”The Committee for Literary Fairness glared at Lonquist.The judge waved a hand, “I’m not concerned with critical theory relativism. I want to know how Mr. B behaved. Please continue, Mr. B.”
The emboldened lines (my emphasis of, um, my text) summarize my problem with most academic silliness. Dr. Matchel and "just call me Gary" Gary are less about reading--letting the characters speak--and more about promoting a particular agenda; less about falling in love with characters, lines, plots, authors, and more about promoting a particular theory which can be applied to current events. They are less about valuing interesting thoughts and ideas and more about categorizing those thoughts and ideas into appropriate, non-appropriate, acceptable, non-acceptable, profound-according-to-us, incredibly reactionary categories.
Silly academics, in other words, are into, well, themselves before actual books and words. The Literature version of the cartoon is the academic who didn't bother to read the book or see the movie or watch the television show or talk to people who actually like the book/movie/television show, yet nevertheless has an opinion about it based on a theory and is going to spend eternity lecturing the true fan all about what the true fan is supposed to think.
Not every college/university in infected by this attitude and even within departments that are infected, there are always a few hold-outs. But unfortunately, the attitudes are still there to be spoofed.
I'll leave you to guess what happens to Mr. B (taking into account that I am a romantic).
[The above post was written several years ago. Unfortunately, it is still very true today. In fact, I removed a few caveats from this post that implied things were getting better. As Eugene remarks in his tributes to The Major, progressive politics are creating less competent female heroes, just as many college campuses are dragging women and many other people down, not buoying them up.]
Great Poe Moment!
A-Z List 2, from which I select movies for A-Z List 8, includes Poe.
Here is one of my favorite tributes to Poe--funny and sincere at the same time:
Books to Movies: When the Character Doesn't Match the Actor
One of those choices is, Does one go for the "look" of the character? Or does one go for the actor?
I consider The Fellowship of the Ring one of the best-cast movies in existence because it got decent actors with the right look. And in the second trilogy when Lee Pace, Ian McKellan, Luke Evans, and Martin Freeman all show up in the same place at the same time, I think, Gosh, how many more strong actors who match their parts could we drag into this scene? As I mention later, Richard Armitage and Luke Evans's scenes are some of the best in both trilogies.
I'm less positive about the Cadfael series.
Sean Pertwee as Hugh Beringer is pretty close to the book description and a decent actor in his own right. I had a total crush on him when I was younger (I still swoon at the sound of his voice).
Derek Jacobi is...
How can I criticize Sir Jacobi?! He's an amazing actor! He can do anything!
But would NOT casting Derek Jacobi truly be the best option? Would any director NOT cast him?
I think the producers were wise, once they had him, to NOT to alter his features or change his voice. But then, the British tend to shrug off such efforts, so that even when they are playing French characters, they just keep speaking with crisp British accents (with David Suchet as the major exception). The whole world should sound like this!
The Cadfael scripts are all over the map, writing-wise. The first season seems to have spent most its money on Jacobi plus the set and then got lucky with Pertwee and a few others, such as Michael Culver (Prior Roberts). Everything else feels somewhat cobbled together. But worth watching!
September 22nd: Hobbit Day!
Benedict Cumberbatch's quote is perfect! And yup, I was also read The Hobbit by my parents.
Books to Movies: Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire, or, The Non-Mary Sue Makes Choices
And I think Jackson uses it well to create character growth (as opposed to a bunch of action moments strung together). Specifically...
Thorin faces down Azog and fails. Kudos! Thorin is not a Mary Sue, and Azog needs to be worthy of all the hand-wringing.
Literature Devil correctly presents the Mary Sue as a character that has no flaws and doesn't learn or grow or change. Everything is simply handed the Mary Sue. The universe bends to the Mary Sue's convenience.
My personal definition of a Mary Sue is that a Mary Sue resists taking risks that could result in unforeseen outcomes. That is, part of the allure of the Mary Sue--I'm guessing--is the non-risk, the desire for a character to have everything and to not have to live with decisions that will, in reality, cut off other avenues (if I live in Portland on the non-Old Port side, I'm not living on the waterfront or in the center of Boston--not with the kind of money I make in the profession I choose to pursue).
Jackson, a decent storyteller, gives Bilbo several defining moments, times when he chooses to act. The moments increase in difficulty, problem-solving, and consequences. Not killing Gollum and helping Thorin are good ones. They are also mostly emotional and instinctual. Later, Bilbo will make more thoughtful choices, leading eventually to the troubling ethical choice to take the Arkenstone.
A well-crafted character makes choices and lives with them.
Bilbo owns his decisions, so in LOTR, he apologizes to Frodo for choices he made over 50 years earlier. From an objective point of view, not only was Bilbo justified in his decisions regarding Gollum, Gandalf implies that Bilbo was "meant to find the ring."
But the justifications and theological implications don't matter. (Nothing is gained by blaming God.) And that perspective comes from Tolkien (as well as Jackson). Tolkien continually underscores the lack of sure knowledge in his texts. Even people like Gandalf and Galadriel cannot see into the future. Belief does NOT equal instant answers and "I've got it all pegged" ideologies. Nothing is certain. Nothing is set. Nobody can guess the end.
The most anyone can do is the best they can manage in the moment. The subsequent decisions might be right. They might be wrong. They might be best.
They might be mistakes. The point is not that the decisions are
PERFECT because the character is PERFECT. The point is, a well-crafted character
takes responsibility (or learns to take responsibility) for those decisions. "These are mine."
On to the second movie!
Dysfunctional Relationships on Crime Shows: the Fallacy of "Should" on Criminal Intent
Different mystery shows tend to produce episodes that emphasize particular types of crimes and criminals. While CSI:LV episodes tended to produce dysfunctional relationships rooted in envy, Law & Order: Criminal Intent episodes tended to showcase dysfunctional relationships based on the perception of lost opportunities.
That is, Law & Order: Criminal Intent showcased what I consider to be one of the most damaging fallacies within the human psyche: I should have had this type of life.
One of the most chilling representative episodes is "Phantom" starring the ever impressive Michael Emerson as the villain. The episode is based on the true story of Jean-Claude Romand, the French man who pretended to work for WHO, took money from relatives, and ultimately killed his wife and kids and parents. Emerson's character pretends to work for the UN, "invests" money on behalf of a number of people, then kills some of that number. The show's detectives, Goren and Eames, save the family. The episode, naturally, presents the psychological motive in starker relief--but the critical moment is the same: the life the villain invented about himself is about to come crashing down/be revealed.
 |
| Marvelous Elizabeth Marvel |
Law & Order: Criminal Intent returns to this theme several times, from Michael Gross (unnervingly) as the bad guy who wants the girl and kills to impress her--only to be disappointed by her utter lack of enthusiasm--to the publisher who pins all her faith on one of those horrible survivor memoirs (that turns out to be made-up). How they imagine their life's trajectory is out of sync with the reality around them.
In fact, one of the first episodes uses this theme: "Art," in which an art forger kills because she so desperately wants to have a show of her own work. She is owed it.
An intimate relationship isn't the direct source of conflict in the last two cases--although an adulterous
couple does pay the price in one of them--but it is in "Consumed" and "But Not
Forgotten" (with the amazing Alicia Coppola). In both episodes, a wife decides to
take revenge on her husband for the life she believes he stole from
her.
One of my favorites on the reverse side is "The Gift" in which a conman protects his nutty girlfriend, who believes she has psychic powers--but actually has a form of epilepsy--because "we don't do so well without each other." He knows exactly what the relationship is and sacrifices himself to protect it: "Someone will be there to catch you this time."
Books to Movies: Is the Movie Giving Readers What They Loved in the First Place?
I've read The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczt and frankly, it is over-the-top sentimentalism (in one scene, Percy kisses his wife's footprints). The legend of the Scarlet Pimpernel, however, is of a foppish, silly, mentally lacking gentleman who turns into a clever, brave operative. It's a variation, in some ways, on the laid-back hero.
I was equally impressed--rather to my surprise--by Leslie Howard's Scarlet Pimpernel. He switches within seconds from drawling aristocrat to serious planner. He isn't quite as engaging as Andrews, who manages to retain his joie de vivre no matter his persona, but he does capture the legend.
Richard E. Grant's version doesn't quite capture those double roles. His Scarlet Pimpernel is less foppish and more sarcastic. He seems to be deliberately baiting his enemies rather than "hiding" in plain sight. Of course, the Richard E. Grant version takes place after Percy and Marguerite have reconciled and Chauvalin is already convinced of Percy's true self.
The series has its points, namely the political and interpersonal wrangling between Chauvlin (Martin Shaw) and Ropiespierre (Ronan Vibert).
But is the series a faithful rendering of the BOOK? Or, if not the book, of the legend that people love?
In many ways, the Blackadder III episode "Nob and Nobility" is more faithful. This is the episode in which BlackAdder pretends (or, rather, pretends that he is going to pretend) to be a spy in the style of Scarlet Pimpernel and keeps running into noblemen, including one played by Tim McInnery, who claim, "I am the Scarlet Pimpernel."
The issue here is why I feel that post-Hickson Agatha Christie BBC productions fail while Criminal Games, the recent French versions of Agatha Christie, succeed, despite taking enormous liberties. The things that I love about Christie (the hint of wryness, the anti-melodrama since everything is so ultimately normal, day-to-day life, matter-of-fact commentary) is distilled in the case of Hickson and Criminal Games. The other versions seem to take a tiny element and ignore the rest for the sake of BIG MEANING AND SELF-APPOINTED DARKNESS.
*Heavy sigh.*
Did the book get turned into a movie--or just the title?
International Chocolate Day
Like many of the women in my family, I love chocolate. However, I love it like a fan, not an expert (so this post could fall in the "Things I Like Anyway" category). That is, when I purchase candy bars, I often choose Hershey's and 3 Musketeers and such.
When it comes to baked goods--which I prefer--I'm completely the opposite: very picky and snobbish. I only eat certain pies made by certain bakeries. I will only eat chocolate-filled croissants (my favorite dessert) made by certain bakeries (at one point, I learned to make them myself, and they turned out okay, but it's a lot of work--and butter).
 |
| Borrowed picture-- |
| hers had the same texture. |
To her credit, when I was growing up, she made a chocolate mousse pie that satisfied both of my tastebud needs: lovely, smooth chocolate in a perfect crust.
Ratatouille as an Exploration of Elitism versus Creativity
Speaking of liking and not liking things...
The plot of Ratatouille is complex as is the dialog. There is no attempt to "talk down" the dialog or even, as in Toy Story and Shrek, to keep the plot dialog basic while throwing in funny and more complex subtext. All of Ratatouille's dialog demands close attention. Still, it is possible that for young children, the images carry most of the story. And I happen to believe that while a child may get bored with an overly complex work (i.e., War & Peace), complexity doesn't automatically hurt a child's appreciation of a film or book: even if the child doesn't understand every plot point, innuendo, or theme, the child still responds to the film or book's created world and the human tensions within it.
Likewise, I think a child can appreciate the rather complex theme of Ratatouille, especially since the theme has multiple levels. When I first saw the movie, my English-teacher's brain was mislead by Gusteau's slogan, "Everyone can cook." I jumped to the conclusion that the movie was another one of those Disney films about someone trying and trying and trying until he or she achieves her goal! The Little Engine That Could, version 3,000.
But really, Gusteau's slogan should be "Everyone may cook" or, rather, "Everyone with talent should have the right to cook." In other words, Gusteau's point is not "hey, if you just try, try, try again, you can make it" (after all, Linguini freely admits at the end of the movie that he has absolutely no talent); rather, Gusteau is challenging the position of elitists.
Not at all. Remy's brother Emile will never lose his taste for Ramen noodles, tater tots, and Hostess cupcakes. The guy just isn't a gourmet. But he loves his brother, and his brother loves him, so...what does it matter? In fact, Brad Bird, the writer and director of Ratatouille, attempts to answer that question: Why does Remy's talent matter (if not for elitist reasons)? His answer: Remy's talent isn't about being better than other people; it's about doing something that will add to the world.
I like that because it bypasses the whole elitist versus self-esteem-for-everyone argument. (I dislike the first position and consider the second counter-productive.) In my thesis, I argue that people enjoy artistic works because those works enable them to use their creativity, but I also argue that creativity is a very broad desire.
Creativity is not a specialized right-brained activity, reserved for artists, poets, and performers. People want to create all kinds of things: loving families, good filing systems, decent web sites, tasty treats, well-groomed animals, a trusty lesson plan. How that desire plays out may very well be influenced by social, cultural environments and institutions but votary theory [my theory that I present in my thesis] postulates its existence regardless of external frameworks. The creative desire like any human desire (envy, hate, love) exists throughout time and history. The modes of its expression are influenced by context but context does not determine the desire. A contemporary Shakespeare would not, perhaps, write plays (unless he teamed up with Andrew Lloyd Webber); that a contemporary Shakespeare would have creative impulses I have no doubt.In any case, all this thought about what constitutes talent and how it should be handled is extremely impressive for a movie that is, ostensibly, a light children's film, but then I have always found designations for films and books to be more confining than truthful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
