What I need to be doing is sleeping...
Instead, I'm typing up my thoughts on a movie. Thoughts being neither a serious review-type thing, nor a humourous, " What was George Lucas THINKING?" thing.
What I hadn't really realized was that at some point I'd begun actively avoiding the Chronicles of Narnia movie. I remember being into the idea of going to see it at the theatre, but when schedules didn't mesh, I don't remember being particularly upset.
But I don't go to the cinema much. Not a big deal.
Then I took a pass on seeing it on DVD at a friends'. Again at the parents'.
And then today, Dad suggested it again. And this time, there wasn't any other unwatched disc lying around.
I was okay at first. My parents and I talked over a good bit of the bombing raid and evacuation. Me making a comment about having to add that since most kids wouldn't know about the evacuation of London any more, my mom countering with most people wouldn't know about the evacuation -- with that fond my-kids-know-weird-stuff mom look, and my dad bringing up some fairly evil church history tied up with the evacuation that had been pretty well hidden up until around ten years ago. Normal fair, for our house.
I actually teared up as soon as Lucy's feet hit snow. Had to wipe my eyes to hide it when the lamp post made its appearance.
Because, this is Narnia, you know?
Middle Earth, I grew up in. Grew up with. I honestly don't know when I first read the Lord of the Rings, much less the Hobbit. The cartoon versions were so much a part of my early childhood that my invisible friends were Bilbo, and Gandalf, and all thirteen dwarves by name, and Gollum even though he scared me. As I got older, I re-read the books. Found new meanings, lost older ones. Arguements about Tolkien formed the basis of my closest friendship in Middle School. My grandmother's map of Middle Earth hung on my wall through High School. I read them again in college. I rolled my eyes about the casting for the movies, but eagerly anticipated their release. I read each book of the trilogy before the theatrical release. I managed to see all three in the theatres, sitting spellbound through The Return of the King despite the lingering effects of whiplash.
And the movies' visions were different from what I'd seen, what I'd imagined, but it didn't matter. Because the story has been so much a part of who I am that change seems ... natural.
But The Chronicles of Narnia are different. My grandma gave me the boxset (numbered in the original order, thank you very much) at quite a young age. And I know I read and re-read them more than once. I can tell you that my favorites were Prince Caspian and The Last Battle. (Which, I know, is weird. Welcome to my psyche.)
But Narnia I visited only occasionally, and I left it behind, a cherished memory, when I grew up. Narnia's gates were only open to children, after all. It was a place I'd been locked out of when childhood's door swung closed.
And now I was thrown into a technocolor, CGI, moving vision of the Narnia someone else knew and loved, and I was afraid of losing the last, cloudy and worn memories of the place I'd known and loved, alittle. Weird, to be more afraid of the movie version of Narnia, than I was of those set in Middle Earth, but true.
It was a good movie. I'm still, somehow sad. (And since The Last Battle is one of my favorites, the movie's ending broke me, and I'm sure I didn't succeed in hiding my tears, though my parents were kind enough not to draw attention to the way I was crying at a movie.)
Hm. Well, file this entry under too long; didn't read. I'm taking my maudlin self to bed.
What I hadn't really realized was that at some point I'd begun actively avoiding the Chronicles of Narnia movie. I remember being into the idea of going to see it at the theatre, but when schedules didn't mesh, I don't remember being particularly upset.
But I don't go to the cinema much. Not a big deal.
Then I took a pass on seeing it on DVD at a friends'. Again at the parents'.
And then today, Dad suggested it again. And this time, there wasn't any other unwatched disc lying around.
I was okay at first. My parents and I talked over a good bit of the bombing raid and evacuation. Me making a comment about having to add that since most kids wouldn't know about the evacuation of London any more, my mom countering with most people wouldn't know about the evacuation -- with that fond my-kids-know-weird-stuff mom look, and my dad bringing up some fairly evil church history tied up with the evacuation that had been pretty well hidden up until around ten years ago. Normal fair, for our house.
I actually teared up as soon as Lucy's feet hit snow. Had to wipe my eyes to hide it when the lamp post made its appearance.
Because, this is Narnia, you know?
Middle Earth, I grew up in. Grew up with. I honestly don't know when I first read the Lord of the Rings, much less the Hobbit. The cartoon versions were so much a part of my early childhood that my invisible friends were Bilbo, and Gandalf, and all thirteen dwarves by name, and Gollum even though he scared me. As I got older, I re-read the books. Found new meanings, lost older ones. Arguements about Tolkien formed the basis of my closest friendship in Middle School. My grandmother's map of Middle Earth hung on my wall through High School. I read them again in college. I rolled my eyes about the casting for the movies, but eagerly anticipated their release. I read each book of the trilogy before the theatrical release. I managed to see all three in the theatres, sitting spellbound through The Return of the King despite the lingering effects of whiplash.
And the movies' visions were different from what I'd seen, what I'd imagined, but it didn't matter. Because the story has been so much a part of who I am that change seems ... natural.
But The Chronicles of Narnia are different. My grandma gave me the boxset (numbered in the original order, thank you very much) at quite a young age. And I know I read and re-read them more than once. I can tell you that my favorites were Prince Caspian and The Last Battle. (Which, I know, is weird. Welcome to my psyche.)
But Narnia I visited only occasionally, and I left it behind, a cherished memory, when I grew up. Narnia's gates were only open to children, after all. It was a place I'd been locked out of when childhood's door swung closed.
And now I was thrown into a technocolor, CGI, moving vision of the Narnia someone else knew and loved, and I was afraid of losing the last, cloudy and worn memories of the place I'd known and loved, alittle. Weird, to be more afraid of the movie version of Narnia, than I was of those set in Middle Earth, but true.
It was a good movie. I'm still, somehow sad. (And since The Last Battle is one of my favorites, the movie's ending broke me, and I'm sure I didn't succeed in hiding my tears, though my parents were kind enough not to draw attention to the way I was crying at a movie.)
Hm. Well, file this entry under too long; didn't read. I'm taking my maudlin self to bed.