The trailer for The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader has finally appeared. I’ve been waiting for a long time to see what the adaption of my favorite of the Narnia books would be like. It looks exciting but one big mystery: Where are Eustace and the dragon?
If you read the book (and I’ll try to avoid spoiling it if you haven’t), the character of Eustace and his adventures with a monstrous dragon form one of the story’s major (almost) explicit Christian threads. But Eustace barely appears in the trailer. He has a line or two at the beginning, and — I think — a voice-over line later on, but more important there is no CGI dragon in sight. So are the book’s Christian themes once again being censored or dumbed-down for secular audiences? I think Prince Caspian was hurt by this, especially by its muddling the theme of following Aslan even when you can’t see him.
Of course, the trailer might not mean much; after all the movie is six months or so away, and this is the teaser; the advertising is bound to focus on the familiar characters; and the CGI dragon work might not be completed yet.
Also, there are some teasing dragon-hints right at the trailer’s very close. I was tipped off to this by an observant viewer who commented on the American Papist blog (second comment down as of this posting).
I haven’t forgotten my promise to write about the “revolution in cinema,” by which I mean the Christian revolution: the fact that Hollywood is now realizing the actual numbers of its Christian audience and is now trying to respond. Above all, I mean the recent explosion in Christian-themed fantasy epics on the big screen, including The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia. Very much a reason to celebrate, though most of the films weren’t actually made by Christians. But this may soon change. This is one of the reasons Act One (of which I am a proud graduate) trains Christians for the movies is so that WE can get our own stories up on the big screen.
Not only this, but the cultural war between believers and atheists is going to heat up with this December’s release of The Golden Compass, the first of the three projected films based on Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. Pullman makes no secret of his hatred for Christian fantasy as written by Lewis and others, and his trilogy is directed toward the need to fight the “oppressivness” of religious belief. Meantime, more Chronicles of Narnia are coming to the screen, not to mention the final two Harry Potter films. The next couple of years are going to be interesting ones at the box office!
But there are some Christians who don’t realize what weapons we need in this war and why. They retreat into their Bibles while continuing to condemn most Christian fantasy literature for paganism, witchcraft, magic, and not having a scriptural quote in every line so people will know that the books are Christian. J. K. Rowling’s insistence that she is a Christian and even that she is writing about her own struggle with faith mean nothing to them. Or else they will make comparisons — Tolkien good, Rowling bad — based on nothing more than the fact that Tolkien has had a Christian label for years, and no one knows that much about Rowling’s beliefs — at least they didn’t when she first started writing.
Here is a wonderful post by an author who points out that one of the most basic problems some Christians have in reading fantasy literature is their lack of knowledge of ancient and medieval Christian symbolism and literature. Rowling, like other Christian fantasy writers, is working from a very rich tradition, which many of the evangelical side — and sadly, many Catholics as well — are ignorant of. They don’t even begin to know how to recognize the allusions in the books. And they simply refuse to open themselves up to knowledge.
This is only a taste of what I want to write. Now that I’ve completed the book, I should have time to explore the subject of the revolution in cinema at greater length — hopefully soon.
Or “The Twilight of the Potter.” That’s irresistible title people are using for what seems like the end of the Potter era. I finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows two weeks ago — I held off until July 23, two days after its release, to buy my copy — and read it all at one gulp.
For those who have yet to read it, you have a treat in store. It is a glorious book and in many ways a profound one, a fitting close to an epic story. Yes there are SPOILERS below, but out of consideration for you, I’ll try not to make them too heavy.
For the rest of us: Now that we have read through the last thrilling chapter, drunk to the last drop the bitterness of death and experienced to its fullest the joy of resurrection, we can finally reflect on the Harry Potter series as a whole.
I came to the series somewhat later than many people. I had heard a bit about it here and there, and was intrigued, but since I was spending most of my time from 1997-2001 working on my dissertation and every spare minute working on a screenplay of my own, I did almost no outside reading. When the movie version of The Sorcerer’s Stone came out late in 2001 I went to see it — and immediately went out and bought every book in the series that had been published to that date. I loved them. As time went on, though, I was beginning to feel a little frustrated because the vast story, the incredible number of characters and the overwhelming mythology of this created world threatened to burst the bounds even of J.K. Rowling’s prodigious imagination. I was beginning to think she had taken on much more than she could actually handle. I felt that many of the story arcs and characters were ignored or dropped (my favorite character, Remus Lupin was criminally underused after his first appearance in Book III, at least until the last book), and it was becoming harder and harder to keep track of all the mysteries, clues, and revelations.
Something that I frequently missed in Rowling’s work was the sense of wonder, of transcendence that can be found so frequently in Lewis and Tolkien. Since the magic was a completely accepted and routine part of the everyday lives of most of the characters, there was little sense of wonder about it. But every now and again, the magic hinted at something profound. For instance, the Mirror of Erised in Book I, and especially the learning of the Patronus charm, again in Book III — another reason it is my favorite book in the series.
But for the most part, this last book paid off beautifully. Over time, I have become more and more pleased with improvement in Rowling’s writing. In this last book, she shows a greater sense of wonder or at least her ability to describe it.
For instance, Harry’s first sight of the beautiful silver doe.
Harry stared at the creature, filled with wonder, not at her strangeness, but at her inexplicable familiarity. He felt that he had been waiting for her to come, but that he had forgotten, until this moment, that they had arranged to meet. . . . He knew, he would have staked his life on it, that she had come for him, and him alone. (p. 566).
Or this:
While [Fleur's] radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everyone it fell upon. Ginny and Gabriel, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look at all as if he had ever met Fenrir Greyback. (p. 144).
Of course, there is no reason why Rowling’s strengths should be exactly the same as Lewis’ or Tolkien’s. She may not have been consciously reaching for the same level of wonderment. But her own strengths are dazzling. In particular, her creation of character, gift for dialogue, and attention to the moral realm are outstanding.
Above all this, the plot threads and character arcs that are resolved in this final book point to some strong over-arching Christian themes.
As far as I can tell, most of the young fans on places like Mugglenet.com seem to be oblivious to them. Just as Lewis wished, and as I’m sure Rowling herself wished. But they will still be affected by them. Whenever they are faced in the future with the task of forgiving a seemingly unforgivable enemy, they can think of Harry and Professor Snape. When the need to have compassion for those it seems impossible to have compassion on, they can think of Voldemort. When they need to realize that we are all sinners, they can think of Dumbledore — yes, even Dumbledore.
And then there are Harry’s final actions in the book, which I must not spoil — but they illustrate the center of the Christian faith in a moving and profound way. Even to say that much really gives it away. I was very moved this past weekend, listening to the ‘Pottercast” on i-Tunes, which came out almost immediately after the book’s release, in which a roomful of fans debated the book’s finale. How many of them, knowingly or not, grasped that theme of voluntary sacrifice, thought about it at length, and loved it. This is an overwhelming reason to be glad the books were written. (You can check out the podcast here or on i-Tunes).
Even many secular commentators are now getting the drift. For ages, the media has seen fit to ignore the actual Christian content of the books, while putting forward every Christian “Harry Hater” as an example of the usual Christian approach to fantasy literature. Few of them seemed aware that Rowling herself is a Christian.
The first secular review of the final book that I heard was on NPR, and it said that about halfway through the book, “the overwhelming religious allegory begins,” or something like that. If you’ve read or heard such a commentary. I hope you’ll share it.
Last night (finally) I went to see the movie version of Order of the Phoenix. This was the only book of the series that I have so far read only once (largely because I read it in a library copy rather than buying it). I had forgotten a great many of the details of that installment. It was really something to see this after reading the final book, and watching it onscreen, particularly a powerful moment at the end between Harry and Voldemort, I realized how much the story’s themes tend overwhelming in the same direction of moral and spiritual growth, of resisting evil inside yourself, and above all, of forgiveness.
This is a good occasion to reflect on what can only be described as a revolution in cinema that has taken place in the last few years. But that will have to wait for my next post.
Because of my exhausting St. Elizabeth projects, I’ve missed a lot of blog-worthy subjects lately: Paris Hilton’s Bible reading’! The New Atheism! (Now there’s a pair of topics for you). All the latest summer blockbusters! (I hope to see one or two before the summer is over, particularly Ratatouille and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix). And speaking of the last, I guess I could still be joining in the speculation over the last Harry Potter book and how J. K. Rowling will resolve Harry’s fate — except that I don’t have a clue as to what will happen to Harry, though I’m dying to find out.
Then there’s the ever-popular subject of the Motu Proprio, in which Pope Benedict XVI has indicated that the Traditional Latin Mass or Tridentine rite according to the 1962 missal will be more widely available. I was amazed by the amount of bloggage over this on various Catholic sites: the subject gets at least three times more commentary than any other, even posts on the war in Iraq. I’m also amazed at the extremism of some of the positions. It ought to be clear to everyone that the liturgical situation is more or less what is was before. The 1970 Novus Ordo, as the Pope is careful to point out, remains exactly what it was before — the ordinary normative liturgy of the Western Rite. So no, the decision does not destroy the liturgical reforms of Vatican II, as some have lamented. And it does not mean, as others are hoping, that the new rite they think is an abomination is on its way out, that there will be no more guitar Masses or liturgical dancers (an apparently mythical creature, which I have yet to glimpse in my many years attendance at NO liturgies).
I was also amazed at the level of ignorance, pride and arrogance in many statements on the liturgy. A large number of people on both sides seem to be bitter and relying on emotion without being able to give an objective account of whatever liturgy it is they abhor. Most of it is incredibly one-sided. Many lovers of the NO seem content to pile up complaints of the worst abuses the TLM was subject to in the past, without admitting its beauties, while Trads are content to complain about the worst abuses of the NO and treat them as typical, while at the same time making no real effort to even understand the purpose of the liturgical reform, even as a platform for criticizing it. We have to move beyond this. The truth is that every rite has its good points and any rite can be celebrated well or badly. And mere emotion or esthetic appreciation connected with a rite shouldn’t necessarily be confused with the genuine spiritual or moral experience brought about by an attentive, loving and above all humble participation in it. Let’s recall C. S. Lewis’ admonition that our primary purpose at any liturgy is not to criticize but to open ourselves to whatever spiritual nourishment is going on. And he was a man who found much to criticize in many Anglican liturgies.
One typical ignorant comment that I have read a lot of lately is that diversity in the liturgy is a somehow a bad thing. The norm, these people believe is that there should be a single text of the Mass, in Latin, the world over, because this uniformity is a perfect expression of the universality of the Church (”wherever you go, to Paris, London, Czechoslovakia, China - there is one Mass, the same Mass, everywhere the same!”). The only problem is that this uniformity of the Mass has never existed. These people seem to believe that “Western Rite” and “Catholic” are the same thing. In fact, there are a dozen or so rites in the Church, including several Eastern rites: some of their liturgies are older than any of the present Western ones. And all those who celebrate these varied rites are Catholic. When one of the uniformity posters had this rather forcibly pointed out to him, his response was basically “those rites involve only a small number of people” — so obviously they don’t count.
I’m writing this because I have just had the wonderful experience of having the true universality of the Church’s liturgy brought home to me at the Secular Franciscan Quinquennial Congress in Pittsburgh, the them of which was the cultural diversity of the Order and the Church. We had many wonderful presentations by Secular Franciscans who were, among others, Mexcian, Korean, Pueblo and Osage Indians, and enjoyed a number of native (non-liturgical) dances, which were wildly applauded.
But the best of all were the liturgies in two rites of the Church I had never experienced before. One was in the Syro-Malabar rite from India, celebrated in English and one of the Indian languages. a liturgy which traces its history back to the community founded by St. Thomas the Apostle. The other was the Byzantine Catholic rite Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, sung almost entirely in English by the whole congregation with a wonderful choir leading us. The liturgist who led us and gave instructions warned us: “we sing fast.” Most of us were surprised at just how fast. But there was nothing irreverent about the speed. The chant was easy to catch onto and melded with the experience of the beautiful and effusive words of God’s love, so different from the N0 liturgy I’m used to, that the total effect was one of golden buoyancy. It really did blow me away. Partly it was simply the fact that the rite was different: those who celebrate it every week must have to struggle with the over-familiarity of the words, just as we often do with the text of the Mass that we are familiar with. But mostly it was the connection with a living tradition of liturgy that preserves its own particular flavor of the one divine liturgy we all celebrate.
Attending these two beautiful and reverent Masses made me more grateful than ever that the Mass is so old, so varied, so much the same, yet so ever new.
Pausing to look at all the sights on our way to Jerusalem. . . Mainly about faith, the Church, film, writing, famous Christian authors, and anything else I'm interested in at the moment.
The photo above was taken at St. Peter's Basilica in Rome in March 2007.
Quote of the Month
"The conviction that there is a Creator God is what gave rise to the idea of human rights, the idea of the equality of all people before the law, the recognition of the inviolability of human dignity in every single person and the awareness of people’s responsibility for their actions. Our cultural memory is shaped by these rational insights. To ignore it or dismiss it as a thing of the past would be to dismember our culture totally and to rob it of its completeness. The culture of Europe arose from the encounter between Jerusalem, Athens and Rome – from the encounter between Israel’s monotheism, the philosophical reason of the Greeks and Roman law. This three-way encounter has shaped the inner identity of Europe. In the awareness of man’s responsibility before God and in the acknowledgment of the inviolable dignity of every single human person, it has established criteria of law: it is these criteria that we are called to defend at this moment in our history."
Pope Benedict XVI to the German Parliament, Sept 22, 2011.
