Reading/Watching Log
In which I finally watch The Dark Knight Rises, as well as The Secret World of Arrietty, and read Maddigan's Fantasia, Ink and Steel, and On the Seas to Troy...
The Dark Knight Rises
It’s taken me this long, but I’ve finally watched the third instalment in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy. I honestly didn’t know what to expect from it considering everyone else initially seemed really enthusiastic about it, only for the post-hype analysis to set in and the grumbling to start. Furthermore, because it took me so long to finally see it properly, I was well and truly spoiled for practically everything that happened, including Miranda Tate’s true identity, Bruce faking his own death, Blake becoming the next Batman - heck, even Cillian Murphy’s cameo and the fact that Burn Gorman (aka Owen from Torchwood) had a small part. I think the only thing that surprised me was Liam Neeson turning up for about three seconds.
But having been warned about some of its contrivances and knowing about most of the plot developments, I actually found myself enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.
Of course, there was a huge amount of build-up that got minimal payoff, and it’s hard to believe that it took the movie that long just to establish Bane and his cohorts as the rulers of Gotham. Once that occurred however, things began to properly take-off. I loved the conceit (Doylistically speaking, of course) of terrorists running Gotham city and Batman’s allies trying to win it back from the inside - I just wish there had been more of it. Gotham under warlord control was a situation rife with storytelling possibilities, and it would have helped strengthen some of the themes that had been explored throughout the trilogy (more on that in a bit).
I also think it was a good idea to bring the trilogy full-circle by re-establishing the League of Shadows as the main antagonists. Let’s face it, they were never going to top Heath Ledger’s Joker, and in a sense I’m glad they didn’t try. Bane was an effective figure of brutality and fanaticism (despite the incomprehensible speeches), Talia al-Ghul was a shadowy threat that pulled the strings from the shadows, and Catwoman (though she was never called as such in the film itself) was a nice ... I hesitate to use the word “side-kick,” so let’s go with “unexpected ally.”
I suspect that on hearing that Anne Hathaway was cast as Catwoman, many people reacted the same way as they did when Heath Ledger was announced as the Joker. It seemed a bizarre choice to say the least. But she pulls it off. In saying that, I don’t think she takes the iconic character and puts her own unforgettable stamp on it in the way that Heath Ledger did (Hathaway’s sultry demeanour wasn’t quite as effortless as - say - Michelle Pfeiffer was), but for me she ended up being one of the most enjoyable parts of the film. Let’s face it, Nolan does not have a good record with his female characters (most of them invariably end up Stuffed in the Fridge, including Rachel Dawes in the last movie, and Marion Cotillard’s character in Inception, Nolan’s last film prior to this one. Heck, he managed to kill off not one but two wives in The Prestige). So I was pleasantly surprised by his take on Selina Kyle. She didn’t die to further Bruce’s manpain, she’s given agency and ambition and a worldview of her own, she has a fairly solid backstory, a few great fight scenes, and she’s the one to dispose of Bane, essentially pulling Batman’s victory right out from under his nose.
Of course, she does (presumably) end up Bruce’s girlfriend by the end of the film, but since I’m sick to death of this new rule that states it’s impossible for women to be feminist role models if they’re romantically involved with a man, I’m not going to fuss over such a tiny detail. I did see one article complaining that Selina was essentially giving up her values by hooking up with a millionaire; this person seemingly having forgotten that Bruce lost his fortune and is just an Average Joe by the end of the trilogy. My take on the whole thing is that Selina wouldn’t have given Bruce the time of day were he still swanning it up as a playboy, but as a normal guy? Well, someone’s got to show him how real people live.
Besides, Batman/Catwoman was one of my first ships, back when I watched the Warner Brothers’ cartoon as a child and didn’t even know what a ship WAS.
All the other characters were pretty good, though somewhat underutilized - including Batman himself. Seriously, he probably only clocks in about twenty-five minutes of screen-time. Likewise, Alfred disappears about five minutes into the movie (clearly they had no idea what more to do with him) and some of the minor characters were reintroduced only to be disposed of fairly quickly. But I have to make special mention of Joseph Gordon Levitt as Blake. Let’s see, he correctly intuits that Bruce Wayne is Batman, he chews out Commissioner Gordon on his decision to let Batman take the rap for Harvey Dent, he is the only cop in the city not to be trapped underground, and he’s specially chosen by Bruce to become the next Batman.
If this character was female, viewers would be screaming MARY SUE at the top of their lungs. I didn’t actually mind the character, and the film tried for a saving throw by establishing that his name was “Robin” at the end, but still - he grated a little, all the more so because of the double standard. There’s no way viewers would have let a female character get away with being such a special snowflake.
Finally, if there was one major flaw of the trilogy’s last instalment, it’s that it failed to follow up on the themes established in the first two. The first being the importance of truth and the effect it has on people; the second being the question: “is Gotham worth saving?” In the first respect, The Dark Knight opened up some interesting questions about truth and lies. Was Gordon right to let Batman take the flak for Harvey’s death so that Gotham could retain the ideal of their White Knight? Was Alfred right to burn Rachel’s letter so that Bruce could keep believing that she wanted a future with him? Can people handle difficult truths? There are no easy answers to any of this, but unfortunately The Dark Knight Rises doesn’t even try to answer them. Bane reveals to Gotham’s public that Harvey Dent died as a villain, and Alfred admits to Bruce that Rachel was going to leave him - and nothing more is said or done. Despite Alfred’s impassioned plea to “let the truth have its day!” this never actually happens. In the context of the film, the truth is neither good nor bad - just irrelevant.
And in regards to the second question, I felt that there really needed to be more emphasis on the citizens of Gotham when it came to taking back their city and proving themselves worthy of redemption. All three of the diabolic plots in this trilogy have hinged on the villains trying to punish Gotham for its decadence, or prove to the rest of the world that it’s innately corrupt, and though there was a brief moment of grace in the last film in which the people on the ferryboats refused to blow each other up, there really needed to be more of the citizens working together in order to demonstrate that the likes of the Joker and the League of Shadows were wrong about them. (And I’m not counting the army of cops considering their job is law enforcement. I’m talking about ordinary people).
Instead the final act revolved around the crisis of whether or not Batman (and by extension, Bruce) would get credit for what he’d done. But honestly, when the safety of the entire city is in peril - who cares who gets credit for saving it? This felt like the wrong note to end the trilogy on; it needed one that reassured the audience that Gotham didn’t actually need Batman anymore; that there were good people who had been spurred in action and who successfully won back their city. Instead we get a brief scene in which people emerge from their homes and stand in the street, blinking up at the sky - as though they’ve just spent the entire time hiding in their houses.
But apart from that I enjoyed myself. My favourite part would have to be when the cops realize that Batman has returned to Gotham and one of them turns to his younger partner and excitedly says: “you’re gonna see some fun tonight!”
The Secret World of Arrietty
*Sigh of bliss* There is nothing in this world like a Studio Ghibli film. How do you even describe watching one? I remember seeing Spirited Away for the first time and becoming increasingly engrossed and astonished by what I was watching. The artistry, the creativity, the sense of gradual pacing and unusual storytelling that is so unlike anything in Western animated films - it’s impossible to really articulate what makes them so special because they are so unique. There’s just a magical, indefinable quality that the studio imprints on each and every piece of work it distributes. If there’s a literary comparison, it would have to be Patricia McKillip - a writer whose style is a little difficult to grasp the first time around, but which becomes more beautiful as it grows in familiarity.
Mary Norton's The Borrowers (first published in 1952) is a story that seems tailor-made for the studio, giving its artists a chance to explore the world from the point-of-view of tiny people. So we have walkways comprised of nails protruding from the wall, pulley systems constructed from paperclips and bodkins, stamps utilized as pictures on a hallway wall, and sharpened pins as dangerous rapiers. Perhaps my favourite detail is the way the Borrowers deal with water: whenever they pour themselves a drink, they only need a single large globule to sip from. The animators actually know how water behaves, rather than trying to “miniaturize” it along with their protagonists.
Centred on the Clock family, consisting of Pod, Homily and their daughter Arrietty, the story is no more (and no less) than a series of encounters they have with the larger world; whether it be birds, heights, bugs, or “human beans”. That’s it. It sounds far too simplistic to work and yet the fascination that the animators clearly had in shaping their world is contagious. For example, the first time Arrietty sets foot in the kitchen the film takes the time to convey its vastness to a girl her size: the echoes, the drops, the loud ticking of a clock, the immensity of space that lies between the bench and the floor. The attention to detail given to perspective and spatial relationships leads to some of the film's most innovative scenes, and you find yourself fascinated by the question of how the tiny Borrowers plan to negotiate such a massive space.
But let’s talk about Arrietty. She’s a wonderful character; all the more so for being ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Fourteen years old and standing at about four inches tall, she is in many ways the quintessential tomboy, one who scampers around the house, wields a tiny pin for a sword, and relishes any adventure or challenge that comes her way. But at the same time she's decidedly feminine - always garbed in a pretty skirt or dress, and scrupulously checking her hair every time she scoops it up out of her face with a tiny butterfly clip. How much do I love the fact that the film recognises a girl can be cool and adventuresome without foregoing her femininity?
She’s just effortless. That’s the only word I can describe for her characterization. So often I hear people talking about the problems that come with writing female characters: make them too good and they’ll be dismissed as Mary Sues, yet give them too many flaws and they’ll inevitably fall short of the higher standard that the reader/viewer places on them.
And yet Arrietty is proof that it doesn’t have to be difficult. She’s fully realized and completely effortless.
I was a little less fond of Sho, the boy who comes to his great-aunt’s house in preparation for a heart operation and inadvertently discovers the Borrowers. Most of the time I quite liked him: a sensitive, melancholy boy who is quietly preparing for death (just let that soak in for a minute; he’s perhaps a little younger than Arrietty and is certain that he’s going to die in a few days) and softly curious about the little people living in the house. It’s a goldmine for potential interaction between himself and Arrietty, but a couple of scenes have him doing some rather inexplicable things. During his first conversation with Arrietty, he seems to take a strange delight in informing her that she’s an endangered species who is doomed to die out (though perhaps this was the fault of the voice actor), and later he uproots their entire kitchen in order to replace it with the fancy one he’s taken from the doll’s house. He nearly gives Homily a heart attack in the process, and it confirms Pod’s suspicious that their home has been compromised, forcing them to leave.
What a thoughtless, stupid thing for him to do! And the strangest thing is that the film never comments on it or holds him accountable for the chaos he caused. Still, Sho’s fascination with Arrietty is spot-on. A great touch is the way Arrietty reacts when Sho sees her for the first time: such is the Borrower taboo against being seen by anyone that her response is what you'd expect from a young girl who has just been seen without her clothes on, and so it’s rewarding to find that Sho is perspective enough (at least in this instance) to ask permission to look at her the next time they meet. Though there’s certainly never any semblance of a love story between them, you get the sense that Sho becomes completely enamoured with her. Can’t say I blame him.
Studio Ghibli films come in two distinct flavours: dark and epic (Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind) or light and gentle (Ponyo, My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service). "Arrietty" definitely falls into the latter category, with a story that isn't afraid to unfold at a mild pace, taking its time as it establishes the mood, characters and setting, and which foregoes a complex plot for a very simple tale of transition and friendship.
Maddigan’s Fantasia by Margaret Mahy
Ah, Margaret Mahy. She passed away quite recently and New Zealand definitely lost a treasure when she did. Back in 2005 a TVNZ production company (or something) approached her with the idea to collaborate on a children’s drama series. Having long considered writing a story involving a travelling circus, Mahy wrote and published Maddigan’s Fantasia, a book that was then adapted for television by Gavin Strawhan and Rachel Lang (though it changed its title to Maddigan’s Quest in order to avoid any potential confusion with the Disney film Fantasia). I shall say no more considering you can read more about it on Helen Lowe’s blog right HERE; in the second instalment of my Big Worlds on Small Screens column. Please check it out!
But as for the book, the premise (as in the show) is that the 22nd century heralded a number of radical changes in the Earth’s tectonic plates, ultimately resulting in a post-apocalyptic world with little in the way of technology and civilisation. The exception is the city of Solis, a solar-powered community that shines as a beacon of hope in this dangerous new world of isolated settlements and bandit-ridden highways. It is here that the circus troupe known as Maddigan's Fantasia spends each winter before heading out every year to explore new lands, meet new people and spread some joy to those living in the wilderness.
But this year things are different. Solis is in desperate need of a new solar converter and though emissaries were sent out to retrieve one from the settlement of Newton, they never returned. The city council therefore commissions Maddigan's Fantasia with the task of fetching the converter, believing that they'll go unnoticed by any spies or traitors seeking to undermine Solis.
At the centre of this quest is fourteen year old Garland, the daughter of Ferdy Maddigan, the ringleader of the circus and last of the Maddigan family line. Come to think of it, she bears a striking similarity in spirit and appearance to Arrietty, especially with her oft-described red hair. Garland knows the potential dangers that lie in wait for the Fantasia, all the more so when two young boys and their baby sister appear out of nowhere to join the troupe, desperate to escape a couple of sinister men that follow them everywhere. The truth is difficult to believe: that the boys are from the future, one in which the Fantasia failed to return the solar converter to Solis. As a result, the city turned to radioactive power and fell under the control of a terrible being known as the Nennog. To avert this future they've been sent back in time by their parents in order to change the course of history and ensure the success of the Fantasia.
Margaret Mahy has always been an exceptional writer, her gift lying in the ability to keep the pace of any story rolling while dipping just deeply enough into character development and world-building without slowing things down. Given the subject matter, we’ll go with a circus-related analogy: she’s like a juggler in her ability to keep the three components of fantasy-fiction up in the air without dropping a single one. Her prose is like music on the page, with similes and turns of phrase that often made me put down the book and sigh in delight. Take for example our first description of the Fantasia:
"Down at the bottom of the hill a little plain, slightly scooped like a begging hand, reached out of a small forest of old trees stretching towards the next hill. On the edge of scrubby bush that fringed the true forest, Garland's moving home, the Fantasia, was laid out like a strange garden. Its tents were old and sometimes patched but they still had the look of gallant coloured flags. That one there was her sleeping place - half bus, half caravan - a crested tower pointing upwards from its root, rather as if a little castle were struggling to hatch itself out of the old van. The Fantasia was having a private joke with itself, dressing not only its clowns and acrobats in astonishing clothes, but turning the vehicles that carried it along the leftover tracks of the wild world into a bright and shifting village on wheels."
Lovely.
In terms of the fantasy genre, there are a few well-trod paths to be found here. Let’s see, we’ve got two hapless henchmen working for the Big Bad, a network of tunnels that criss-cross through the mountains, the overzealous witch-finder, the community where children are forced to work in the mines, the community where children have taken over, the cannibalistic community where the protagonists are tricked into eating mind-altering substances that make them believe they’re in paradise - you’ve seen these plots a million times before and I’ll spare you links to TV Tropes that explain them all in more detail. Furthermore, she goes rather crazy with the time paradoxes - seriously, the loops and cheats get more nonsensical than Doctor Who.
Why You Should Read This: Because every now and then Mahy pulls something exceptionally original out of her hat. Clearer than anything else in the novel is the chapter in which Garland follows several mysterious signs through the sandy underbrush, down steps hewn into a sheer rock cliff and across several fields to where a library sits in the middle of nowhere. You’ll have to read for yourself if you want to know why it’s there and who’s in it, but Mahy crafts the scene so vividly that you can almost hear the rustling pages and smell the sea air.
Garland makes for a great protagonist: resourceful and curious, determined and responsible (though not above getting territorial when a fellow circus performer starts making moves on her beautiful mother). In her portrayal of the Fantasia Mahy perfectly captures the joy and wonder that it spreads throughout a desolate world, the seize-the-moment mentality of its participants, and the intricate network of relationships that result in its cheerful, warm, squabbling dynamic.
Ink and Steel by Elizabeth Bear
Years ago I picked up Elizabeth Bear’s Blood and Iron and remember quite enjoying it, even though it was a rather dense read. A blend of history and fantasy is what typifies her work, as does her reliance on folklore and literary references to craft her tales - and the text is so packed full of references and in-jokes that it’s easy to be left behind. Bear doesn't suffer fools and seldom slows down to explain precisely what's going on - in fact, she almost takes the “show, don’t tell” rule too seriously, what with her tendency to avoid practically all exposition and force a reader to pay utmost attention to every word.
Is all this putting you off? Well, I’ll admit that it’s a challenging read, and I actually got through about four other books before finally wrapping up Ink and Steel. Set in an alternative version of Elizabethan London, the major conceit of the novel is that Queen Elizabeth’s reign is paralleled by the Faerie court, where the great Queen Medb rules concurrently to her mortal counterpart.
Each world benefits the other in a number of ways, and playwright Cristofer Marlowe uses the intricacies of this symbiotic relationship to write plays infused with magic that maintain Elizabeth's sovereignty. He works at the behest of the Prometheus Club, a staple feature of Bear’s novels. This Club is a secret society of magicians, politicians and spies working together to influence the course of England's history, though there are plenty of rivalries and sub-sets at work among the club members, and it is a betrayal from within their ranks that leads to Marlowe's murder.
The Prometheans turn to William Shakespeare to take Marlowe's place, an up-and-coming playwright who is struggling to reconcile his passion for theatre with the demands of a family life. Meanwhile, Marlowe (or Kit as he's generally known) awakens in Faerie to find himself the patient (or is it prisoner?) of none other than Morgan le Fay. He's required to transfer his allegiances from the Queen of England to the Queen of Faerie if he's to maintain what remains of his existence, but his fondness for Shakespeare leads him to intervene in affairs whenever he can.
Why You Should Read This: For those with time and patience and basic knowledge of Bear’s favoured topics, Ink and Steel may prove to be a rewarding book. It contains all the intrigue you could ask for: secret love letters, tragic deaths, assassination attempts, supernatural visitations, and is filled to the brim with sly in-jokes and quotes from both Shakespeare and Marlowe.
As mentioned, any Elizabeth Bear book requires your full attention if you're to understand what's going on. The sheer amount of characters is mind-boggling, especially since they can be referred to as many as three names over the course of the story (in fact it took me a while to realize that Cristofer Marlowe was actually the same person as Kit Marley). But Bear's gift is in mingling fact and fiction together in order to weave together a story that is unique and yet familiar in its use of old fairytale patterns. She has some fantastic ideas that justify how the likes of King Arthur and Morgan le Fay can exist as legends in the mortal world but also as corporeal entities in Faerie, as well as beautiful descriptions of Medb’s court and its inhabitants. One of these days I’d like to gather all her Promethean books together and pick through them slowly, absorbing all the wonderful details and plot twists that are strewn throughout.
On the Seas to Troy by Caroline Cooney
I read this book years ago when it was titled Goddess of Yesterday and was really impressed by the way it integrated an original character - Anaxandra - into the familiar story of the Trojan War. Judging by the afterword at the back of the book, Cooney did extensive research into the pre-events of the infamous war and manages to bring the main players to vivid life through the eyes of her own protagonist.
Anaxandra is raised on a small rocky island by her chieftain father, only to be taken from her home and family as a hostage of King Nicander, who places her in his own household as a companion to his crippled daughter Princess Callisto. Anaxandra gradually adjusts to her new life, only for it to be ripped from her when the island of Siphnos is attacked by pirates. Thanks to an ingenious disguise, she ends up the sole survivor of the slaughter, and when the ship bearing King Menelaus of Sparta arrives to investigate the island, she introduces herself as Princess Callisto so as to escape a life of slavery.
With this new identity, she’s placed under Menelaus’s protection and taken to Sparta where she meets the centrepiece of the story: Helen. Cooney’s take on “the face that launched a thousand ships” is perhaps the most memorable aspect of the book, as she foregoes the more recent sympathetic portrayals of the woman in order to depict her as cold, cruel, self-absorbed, manipulative... and utterly intoxicating. Cooney plays up her demi-goddess status, hinting that she can tell when people are lying and potently describing the effect that she has on other people. Even Anaxandra, who fears and hates her, cannot help but long to be in her presence, do her bidding and make her smile.
It’s an interesting take on the infamous character, and actually quite a refreshing one. As mentioned, recent depictions of Helen have played up her role as a pawn, a victim, a tragic lover, a woman who was acutely aware of the carnage she caused and is deeply regretful of it. Here Helen revels in the blood that is spilled over her and basks in the attention of others. And given the edge that many of the Greek gods and goddesses possess, it’s hard to say whether she’s behaving according to her innate nature, or whether she is just a thoroughly nasty piece of work.
You know the drill: Prince Paris of Troy comes to visit Sparta, and as soon as Menelaus leaves for his grandfather’s funeral, Paris whisks Helen away to his ship and back to Troy. Anaxandra is caught up in the escape attempt, for in trying to save Helen’s daughter Hermione from being taken (and her inevitable death were she to end up in Troy) she ends up once again taking a princess’s place...
Why You Should Read This: In short, this is a clear, descriptive story of an engaging young woman caught up in events much larger than herself. Despite the inevitability of the Trojan War and the bloodshed that it involves, Cooney is able to give Anaxandra enough agency and resourcefulness that she becomes a proactive figure in her own story, one which is largely based around her desire for freedom and the safety of a young child in her care. Another great component is her take on Cassandra, the quintessential madwoman in the tower. Not only does the climax of the story rest on the friendship that exists between herself and Anaxandra, but Cooney utilizes the Cassandra curse (that no one would ever believe her prophecies) in a truly ingenious way.
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Well, that’s it for this week though there’s plenty more to come. I’ve been getting so much reading and watching done recently; so I’m just trying to enjoy the free time while it lasts!
The Dark Knight Rises
It’s taken me this long, but I’ve finally watched the third instalment in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy. I honestly didn’t know what to expect from it considering everyone else initially seemed really enthusiastic about it, only for the post-hype analysis to set in and the grumbling to start. Furthermore, because it took me so long to finally see it properly, I was well and truly spoiled for practically everything that happened, including Miranda Tate’s true identity, Bruce faking his own death, Blake becoming the next Batman - heck, even Cillian Murphy’s cameo and the fact that Burn Gorman (aka Owen from Torchwood) had a small part. I think the only thing that surprised me was Liam Neeson turning up for about three seconds.
But having been warned about some of its contrivances and knowing about most of the plot developments, I actually found myself enjoying it a lot more than I thought I would.
Of course, there was a huge amount of build-up that got minimal payoff, and it’s hard to believe that it took the movie that long just to establish Bane and his cohorts as the rulers of Gotham. Once that occurred however, things began to properly take-off. I loved the conceit (Doylistically speaking, of course) of terrorists running Gotham city and Batman’s allies trying to win it back from the inside - I just wish there had been more of it. Gotham under warlord control was a situation rife with storytelling possibilities, and it would have helped strengthen some of the themes that had been explored throughout the trilogy (more on that in a bit).
I also think it was a good idea to bring the trilogy full-circle by re-establishing the League of Shadows as the main antagonists. Let’s face it, they were never going to top Heath Ledger’s Joker, and in a sense I’m glad they didn’t try. Bane was an effective figure of brutality and fanaticism (despite the incomprehensible speeches), Talia al-Ghul was a shadowy threat that pulled the strings from the shadows, and Catwoman (though she was never called as such in the film itself) was a nice ... I hesitate to use the word “side-kick,” so let’s go with “unexpected ally.”
I suspect that on hearing that Anne Hathaway was cast as Catwoman, many people reacted the same way as they did when Heath Ledger was announced as the Joker. It seemed a bizarre choice to say the least. But she pulls it off. In saying that, I don’t think she takes the iconic character and puts her own unforgettable stamp on it in the way that Heath Ledger did (Hathaway’s sultry demeanour wasn’t quite as effortless as - say - Michelle Pfeiffer was), but for me she ended up being one of the most enjoyable parts of the film. Let’s face it, Nolan does not have a good record with his female characters (most of them invariably end up Stuffed in the Fridge, including Rachel Dawes in the last movie, and Marion Cotillard’s character in Inception, Nolan’s last film prior to this one. Heck, he managed to kill off not one but two wives in The Prestige). So I was pleasantly surprised by his take on Selina Kyle. She didn’t die to further Bruce’s manpain, she’s given agency and ambition and a worldview of her own, she has a fairly solid backstory, a few great fight scenes, and she’s the one to dispose of Bane, essentially pulling Batman’s victory right out from under his nose.
Of course, she does (presumably) end up Bruce’s girlfriend by the end of the film, but since I’m sick to death of this new rule that states it’s impossible for women to be feminist role models if they’re romantically involved with a man, I’m not going to fuss over such a tiny detail. I did see one article complaining that Selina was essentially giving up her values by hooking up with a millionaire; this person seemingly having forgotten that Bruce lost his fortune and is just an Average Joe by the end of the trilogy. My take on the whole thing is that Selina wouldn’t have given Bruce the time of day were he still swanning it up as a playboy, but as a normal guy? Well, someone’s got to show him how real people live.
Besides, Batman/Catwoman was one of my first ships, back when I watched the Warner Brothers’ cartoon as a child and didn’t even know what a ship WAS.
All the other characters were pretty good, though somewhat underutilized - including Batman himself. Seriously, he probably only clocks in about twenty-five minutes of screen-time. Likewise, Alfred disappears about five minutes into the movie (clearly they had no idea what more to do with him) and some of the minor characters were reintroduced only to be disposed of fairly quickly. But I have to make special mention of Joseph Gordon Levitt as Blake. Let’s see, he correctly intuits that Bruce Wayne is Batman, he chews out Commissioner Gordon on his decision to let Batman take the rap for Harvey Dent, he is the only cop in the city not to be trapped underground, and he’s specially chosen by Bruce to become the next Batman.
If this character was female, viewers would be screaming MARY SUE at the top of their lungs. I didn’t actually mind the character, and the film tried for a saving throw by establishing that his name was “Robin” at the end, but still - he grated a little, all the more so because of the double standard. There’s no way viewers would have let a female character get away with being such a special snowflake.
Finally, if there was one major flaw of the trilogy’s last instalment, it’s that it failed to follow up on the themes established in the first two. The first being the importance of truth and the effect it has on people; the second being the question: “is Gotham worth saving?” In the first respect, The Dark Knight opened up some interesting questions about truth and lies. Was Gordon right to let Batman take the flak for Harvey’s death so that Gotham could retain the ideal of their White Knight? Was Alfred right to burn Rachel’s letter so that Bruce could keep believing that she wanted a future with him? Can people handle difficult truths? There are no easy answers to any of this, but unfortunately The Dark Knight Rises doesn’t even try to answer them. Bane reveals to Gotham’s public that Harvey Dent died as a villain, and Alfred admits to Bruce that Rachel was going to leave him - and nothing more is said or done. Despite Alfred’s impassioned plea to “let the truth have its day!” this never actually happens. In the context of the film, the truth is neither good nor bad - just irrelevant.
And in regards to the second question, I felt that there really needed to be more emphasis on the citizens of Gotham when it came to taking back their city and proving themselves worthy of redemption. All three of the diabolic plots in this trilogy have hinged on the villains trying to punish Gotham for its decadence, or prove to the rest of the world that it’s innately corrupt, and though there was a brief moment of grace in the last film in which the people on the ferryboats refused to blow each other up, there really needed to be more of the citizens working together in order to demonstrate that the likes of the Joker and the League of Shadows were wrong about them. (And I’m not counting the army of cops considering their job is law enforcement. I’m talking about ordinary people).
Instead the final act revolved around the crisis of whether or not Batman (and by extension, Bruce) would get credit for what he’d done. But honestly, when the safety of the entire city is in peril - who cares who gets credit for saving it? This felt like the wrong note to end the trilogy on; it needed one that reassured the audience that Gotham didn’t actually need Batman anymore; that there were good people who had been spurred in action and who successfully won back their city. Instead we get a brief scene in which people emerge from their homes and stand in the street, blinking up at the sky - as though they’ve just spent the entire time hiding in their houses.
But apart from that I enjoyed myself. My favourite part would have to be when the cops realize that Batman has returned to Gotham and one of them turns to his younger partner and excitedly says: “you’re gonna see some fun tonight!”
The Secret World of Arrietty
*Sigh of bliss* There is nothing in this world like a Studio Ghibli film. How do you even describe watching one? I remember seeing Spirited Away for the first time and becoming increasingly engrossed and astonished by what I was watching. The artistry, the creativity, the sense of gradual pacing and unusual storytelling that is so unlike anything in Western animated films - it’s impossible to really articulate what makes them so special because they are so unique. There’s just a magical, indefinable quality that the studio imprints on each and every piece of work it distributes. If there’s a literary comparison, it would have to be Patricia McKillip - a writer whose style is a little difficult to grasp the first time around, but which becomes more beautiful as it grows in familiarity.
Mary Norton's The Borrowers (first published in 1952) is a story that seems tailor-made for the studio, giving its artists a chance to explore the world from the point-of-view of tiny people. So we have walkways comprised of nails protruding from the wall, pulley systems constructed from paperclips and bodkins, stamps utilized as pictures on a hallway wall, and sharpened pins as dangerous rapiers. Perhaps my favourite detail is the way the Borrowers deal with water: whenever they pour themselves a drink, they only need a single large globule to sip from. The animators actually know how water behaves, rather than trying to “miniaturize” it along with their protagonists.
Centred on the Clock family, consisting of Pod, Homily and their daughter Arrietty, the story is no more (and no less) than a series of encounters they have with the larger world; whether it be birds, heights, bugs, or “human beans”. That’s it. It sounds far too simplistic to work and yet the fascination that the animators clearly had in shaping their world is contagious. For example, the first time Arrietty sets foot in the kitchen the film takes the time to convey its vastness to a girl her size: the echoes, the drops, the loud ticking of a clock, the immensity of space that lies between the bench and the floor. The attention to detail given to perspective and spatial relationships leads to some of the film's most innovative scenes, and you find yourself fascinated by the question of how the tiny Borrowers plan to negotiate such a massive space.
But let’s talk about Arrietty. She’s a wonderful character; all the more so for being ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Fourteen years old and standing at about four inches tall, she is in many ways the quintessential tomboy, one who scampers around the house, wields a tiny pin for a sword, and relishes any adventure or challenge that comes her way. But at the same time she's decidedly feminine - always garbed in a pretty skirt or dress, and scrupulously checking her hair every time she scoops it up out of her face with a tiny butterfly clip. How much do I love the fact that the film recognises a girl can be cool and adventuresome without foregoing her femininity?
She’s just effortless. That’s the only word I can describe for her characterization. So often I hear people talking about the problems that come with writing female characters: make them too good and they’ll be dismissed as Mary Sues, yet give them too many flaws and they’ll inevitably fall short of the higher standard that the reader/viewer places on them.
And yet Arrietty is proof that it doesn’t have to be difficult. She’s fully realized and completely effortless.
I was a little less fond of Sho, the boy who comes to his great-aunt’s house in preparation for a heart operation and inadvertently discovers the Borrowers. Most of the time I quite liked him: a sensitive, melancholy boy who is quietly preparing for death (just let that soak in for a minute; he’s perhaps a little younger than Arrietty and is certain that he’s going to die in a few days) and softly curious about the little people living in the house. It’s a goldmine for potential interaction between himself and Arrietty, but a couple of scenes have him doing some rather inexplicable things. During his first conversation with Arrietty, he seems to take a strange delight in informing her that she’s an endangered species who is doomed to die out (though perhaps this was the fault of the voice actor), and later he uproots their entire kitchen in order to replace it with the fancy one he’s taken from the doll’s house. He nearly gives Homily a heart attack in the process, and it confirms Pod’s suspicious that their home has been compromised, forcing them to leave.
What a thoughtless, stupid thing for him to do! And the strangest thing is that the film never comments on it or holds him accountable for the chaos he caused. Still, Sho’s fascination with Arrietty is spot-on. A great touch is the way Arrietty reacts when Sho sees her for the first time: such is the Borrower taboo against being seen by anyone that her response is what you'd expect from a young girl who has just been seen without her clothes on, and so it’s rewarding to find that Sho is perspective enough (at least in this instance) to ask permission to look at her the next time they meet. Though there’s certainly never any semblance of a love story between them, you get the sense that Sho becomes completely enamoured with her. Can’t say I blame him.
Studio Ghibli films come in two distinct flavours: dark and epic (Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind) or light and gentle (Ponyo, My Neighbor Totoro, Kiki's Delivery Service). "Arrietty" definitely falls into the latter category, with a story that isn't afraid to unfold at a mild pace, taking its time as it establishes the mood, characters and setting, and which foregoes a complex plot for a very simple tale of transition and friendship.
Maddigan’s Fantasia by Margaret Mahy
Ah, Margaret Mahy. She passed away quite recently and New Zealand definitely lost a treasure when she did. Back in 2005 a TVNZ production company (or something) approached her with the idea to collaborate on a children’s drama series. Having long considered writing a story involving a travelling circus, Mahy wrote and published Maddigan’s Fantasia, a book that was then adapted for television by Gavin Strawhan and Rachel Lang (though it changed its title to Maddigan’s Quest in order to avoid any potential confusion with the Disney film Fantasia). I shall say no more considering you can read more about it on Helen Lowe’s blog right HERE; in the second instalment of my Big Worlds on Small Screens column. Please check it out!
But as for the book, the premise (as in the show) is that the 22nd century heralded a number of radical changes in the Earth’s tectonic plates, ultimately resulting in a post-apocalyptic world with little in the way of technology and civilisation. The exception is the city of Solis, a solar-powered community that shines as a beacon of hope in this dangerous new world of isolated settlements and bandit-ridden highways. It is here that the circus troupe known as Maddigan's Fantasia spends each winter before heading out every year to explore new lands, meet new people and spread some joy to those living in the wilderness.
But this year things are different. Solis is in desperate need of a new solar converter and though emissaries were sent out to retrieve one from the settlement of Newton, they never returned. The city council therefore commissions Maddigan's Fantasia with the task of fetching the converter, believing that they'll go unnoticed by any spies or traitors seeking to undermine Solis.
At the centre of this quest is fourteen year old Garland, the daughter of Ferdy Maddigan, the ringleader of the circus and last of the Maddigan family line. Come to think of it, she bears a striking similarity in spirit and appearance to Arrietty, especially with her oft-described red hair. Garland knows the potential dangers that lie in wait for the Fantasia, all the more so when two young boys and their baby sister appear out of nowhere to join the troupe, desperate to escape a couple of sinister men that follow them everywhere. The truth is difficult to believe: that the boys are from the future, one in which the Fantasia failed to return the solar converter to Solis. As a result, the city turned to radioactive power and fell under the control of a terrible being known as the Nennog. To avert this future they've been sent back in time by their parents in order to change the course of history and ensure the success of the Fantasia.
Margaret Mahy has always been an exceptional writer, her gift lying in the ability to keep the pace of any story rolling while dipping just deeply enough into character development and world-building without slowing things down. Given the subject matter, we’ll go with a circus-related analogy: she’s like a juggler in her ability to keep the three components of fantasy-fiction up in the air without dropping a single one. Her prose is like music on the page, with similes and turns of phrase that often made me put down the book and sigh in delight. Take for example our first description of the Fantasia:
"Down at the bottom of the hill a little plain, slightly scooped like a begging hand, reached out of a small forest of old trees stretching towards the next hill. On the edge of scrubby bush that fringed the true forest, Garland's moving home, the Fantasia, was laid out like a strange garden. Its tents were old and sometimes patched but they still had the look of gallant coloured flags. That one there was her sleeping place - half bus, half caravan - a crested tower pointing upwards from its root, rather as if a little castle were struggling to hatch itself out of the old van. The Fantasia was having a private joke with itself, dressing not only its clowns and acrobats in astonishing clothes, but turning the vehicles that carried it along the leftover tracks of the wild world into a bright and shifting village on wheels."
Lovely.
In terms of the fantasy genre, there are a few well-trod paths to be found here. Let’s see, we’ve got two hapless henchmen working for the Big Bad, a network of tunnels that criss-cross through the mountains, the overzealous witch-finder, the community where children are forced to work in the mines, the community where children have taken over, the cannibalistic community where the protagonists are tricked into eating mind-altering substances that make them believe they’re in paradise - you’ve seen these plots a million times before and I’ll spare you links to TV Tropes that explain them all in more detail. Furthermore, she goes rather crazy with the time paradoxes - seriously, the loops and cheats get more nonsensical than Doctor Who.
Why You Should Read This: Because every now and then Mahy pulls something exceptionally original out of her hat. Clearer than anything else in the novel is the chapter in which Garland follows several mysterious signs through the sandy underbrush, down steps hewn into a sheer rock cliff and across several fields to where a library sits in the middle of nowhere. You’ll have to read for yourself if you want to know why it’s there and who’s in it, but Mahy crafts the scene so vividly that you can almost hear the rustling pages and smell the sea air.
Garland makes for a great protagonist: resourceful and curious, determined and responsible (though not above getting territorial when a fellow circus performer starts making moves on her beautiful mother). In her portrayal of the Fantasia Mahy perfectly captures the joy and wonder that it spreads throughout a desolate world, the seize-the-moment mentality of its participants, and the intricate network of relationships that result in its cheerful, warm, squabbling dynamic.
Ink and Steel by Elizabeth Bear
Years ago I picked up Elizabeth Bear’s Blood and Iron and remember quite enjoying it, even though it was a rather dense read. A blend of history and fantasy is what typifies her work, as does her reliance on folklore and literary references to craft her tales - and the text is so packed full of references and in-jokes that it’s easy to be left behind. Bear doesn't suffer fools and seldom slows down to explain precisely what's going on - in fact, she almost takes the “show, don’t tell” rule too seriously, what with her tendency to avoid practically all exposition and force a reader to pay utmost attention to every word.
Is all this putting you off? Well, I’ll admit that it’s a challenging read, and I actually got through about four other books before finally wrapping up Ink and Steel. Set in an alternative version of Elizabethan London, the major conceit of the novel is that Queen Elizabeth’s reign is paralleled by the Faerie court, where the great Queen Medb rules concurrently to her mortal counterpart.
Each world benefits the other in a number of ways, and playwright Cristofer Marlowe uses the intricacies of this symbiotic relationship to write plays infused with magic that maintain Elizabeth's sovereignty. He works at the behest of the Prometheus Club, a staple feature of Bear’s novels. This Club is a secret society of magicians, politicians and spies working together to influence the course of England's history, though there are plenty of rivalries and sub-sets at work among the club members, and it is a betrayal from within their ranks that leads to Marlowe's murder.
The Prometheans turn to William Shakespeare to take Marlowe's place, an up-and-coming playwright who is struggling to reconcile his passion for theatre with the demands of a family life. Meanwhile, Marlowe (or Kit as he's generally known) awakens in Faerie to find himself the patient (or is it prisoner?) of none other than Morgan le Fay. He's required to transfer his allegiances from the Queen of England to the Queen of Faerie if he's to maintain what remains of his existence, but his fondness for Shakespeare leads him to intervene in affairs whenever he can.
Why You Should Read This: For those with time and patience and basic knowledge of Bear’s favoured topics, Ink and Steel may prove to be a rewarding book. It contains all the intrigue you could ask for: secret love letters, tragic deaths, assassination attempts, supernatural visitations, and is filled to the brim with sly in-jokes and quotes from both Shakespeare and Marlowe.
As mentioned, any Elizabeth Bear book requires your full attention if you're to understand what's going on. The sheer amount of characters is mind-boggling, especially since they can be referred to as many as three names over the course of the story (in fact it took me a while to realize that Cristofer Marlowe was actually the same person as Kit Marley). But Bear's gift is in mingling fact and fiction together in order to weave together a story that is unique and yet familiar in its use of old fairytale patterns. She has some fantastic ideas that justify how the likes of King Arthur and Morgan le Fay can exist as legends in the mortal world but also as corporeal entities in Faerie, as well as beautiful descriptions of Medb’s court and its inhabitants. One of these days I’d like to gather all her Promethean books together and pick through them slowly, absorbing all the wonderful details and plot twists that are strewn throughout.
On the Seas to Troy by Caroline Cooney
I read this book years ago when it was titled Goddess of Yesterday and was really impressed by the way it integrated an original character - Anaxandra - into the familiar story of the Trojan War. Judging by the afterword at the back of the book, Cooney did extensive research into the pre-events of the infamous war and manages to bring the main players to vivid life through the eyes of her own protagonist.
Anaxandra is raised on a small rocky island by her chieftain father, only to be taken from her home and family as a hostage of King Nicander, who places her in his own household as a companion to his crippled daughter Princess Callisto. Anaxandra gradually adjusts to her new life, only for it to be ripped from her when the island of Siphnos is attacked by pirates. Thanks to an ingenious disguise, she ends up the sole survivor of the slaughter, and when the ship bearing King Menelaus of Sparta arrives to investigate the island, she introduces herself as Princess Callisto so as to escape a life of slavery.
With this new identity, she’s placed under Menelaus’s protection and taken to Sparta where she meets the centrepiece of the story: Helen. Cooney’s take on “the face that launched a thousand ships” is perhaps the most memorable aspect of the book, as she foregoes the more recent sympathetic portrayals of the woman in order to depict her as cold, cruel, self-absorbed, manipulative... and utterly intoxicating. Cooney plays up her demi-goddess status, hinting that she can tell when people are lying and potently describing the effect that she has on other people. Even Anaxandra, who fears and hates her, cannot help but long to be in her presence, do her bidding and make her smile.
It’s an interesting take on the infamous character, and actually quite a refreshing one. As mentioned, recent depictions of Helen have played up her role as a pawn, a victim, a tragic lover, a woman who was acutely aware of the carnage she caused and is deeply regretful of it. Here Helen revels in the blood that is spilled over her and basks in the attention of others. And given the edge that many of the Greek gods and goddesses possess, it’s hard to say whether she’s behaving according to her innate nature, or whether she is just a thoroughly nasty piece of work.
You know the drill: Prince Paris of Troy comes to visit Sparta, and as soon as Menelaus leaves for his grandfather’s funeral, Paris whisks Helen away to his ship and back to Troy. Anaxandra is caught up in the escape attempt, for in trying to save Helen’s daughter Hermione from being taken (and her inevitable death were she to end up in Troy) she ends up once again taking a princess’s place...
Why You Should Read This: In short, this is a clear, descriptive story of an engaging young woman caught up in events much larger than herself. Despite the inevitability of the Trojan War and the bloodshed that it involves, Cooney is able to give Anaxandra enough agency and resourcefulness that she becomes a proactive figure in her own story, one which is largely based around her desire for freedom and the safety of a young child in her care. Another great component is her take on Cassandra, the quintessential madwoman in the tower. Not only does the climax of the story rest on the friendship that exists between herself and Anaxandra, but Cooney utilizes the Cassandra curse (that no one would ever believe her prophecies) in a truly ingenious way.
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Well, that’s it for this week though there’s plenty more to come. I’ve been getting so much reading and watching done recently; so I’m just trying to enjoy the free time while it lasts!