Movie Review: Jack the Giant Slayer

The latest in Hollywood's trend of "re-vamping" classic fairy tales, Jack the Giant Slayer was probably the most ambiguous in terms of both reception and plot line. According to IMDB, the 200 million dollar film made just in the vicinity of 30 million dollars in its opening weekend, a low gross by any standard. From my perspective, the storyline also fell somewhat flat. The typical fairy tale ingredients were all there: the reluctant hero, the captured princess, the scheming adviser, all that good stuff, but they weren't always utilized very effectively. Overall, I'd say about about 40-50% of the movie followed the typical fairy tale (for lack of a better term) cliche.

On the other hand, there were several elements of the film that were not only original (as far as they have never been used in any version of the story I know of), but they added a degree of sophistication and subtlety to the plot line that was completely unexpected. During the introductory portion of the film, for example, the legend of the giants and their conflict with the human realm was recounted (simultaneously via alternating shots and dialogue) to farm boy Jack and Princess Isabelle in remarkably poetic verse. Accompanied by 3-D graphics and a well-crafted back story,  this eloquent prose gave the opening sequence a degree of class and intrigue not usually seen in fairy-tale stories, especially ones intended for younger audiences.

Moving onto the beanstalk itself (in some ways the real star of the show), the initial climb by Jack and the King's men to rescue the princess, and the travails they encountered while doing so, could easily be compared to climbing Mt. Everest: the physical exhaustion, violent weather and constant danger of falling to your death (the last of which happened to several unfortunates) were all laid out with a gritty realism that made the journey seem all the more epic.

 

With regard to the human characters, both Jack and Princess Isabelle displayed some unique traits. Aside from both of them being very clever and resourceful (sometimes in completely unexpected and bizarre ways), Jack was portrayed more realistically than I had ever seen before. Although enthralled with fantasy and adventure stories, he was certainly not ignorant of the world around him. For example, when Princess Isabelle ran away from home and happened to show up on Jack's doorstep on a stormy night, he was in no way fooled by her disguise and had a bit of fun at her expense before revealing that fact. Princess Isabelle, as well, displayed traits atypical of the usual fairy-tale princess. Aside from an independent and "call-no-man-master" personality (not exactly new in this day and age but still refreshing to see, nonetheless), she was no pushover when it came to combat, either. Although not directly involved in the melee, she donned armor, was entrusted with a critical task at the height of the battle and, with Jack's help, managed to take down a giant without even drawing a weapon.

All of this aside, the most intriguing aspect of the film for me was something I could never have imagined. One of the centerpieces of the film was an ancient crown that could give whoever wore it complete control over the giants. After Jack used it to defeat them in battle (and eventually became king himself), the crown was altered over successive generations. There was a whole sequence towards the end of the film where the crown was shown being polished, re-sized and expanded upon with jewels, fine cloth, precious metals and other additions over a period of hundreds of years, eventually becoming the centerpiece if the modern British Crown Jewels (fitting, since this story originated in the British Isles). This was accompanied by a multitude of voices, each one reciting a different segment of the "Jack and the Beanstalk/Jack the Giant Killer" story, some of which would be  immediately recognizable to any child today. This sequence reminded me of an important fact about myths and folk-tales. Historically speaking, most prominent and enduring stories (including Greek myths, tales of King Arthur and even Robin Hood) rarely spring from a single source. Regardless their origins, they tend grow and evolve over hundreds and sometimes thousands of years, acquiring new characters and plot lines depending on the time and place in which they are told, as well as who is telling the story. The sequence with the crown at the end of Jack the Giant Slayer was an absolutely perfect metaphor to demonstrate this concept; I doubt even Joseph Campbell could have done it better.

Although several elements of this film did adhere (sometimes irritatingly so) to the typical cliches of fairy-tale stories, the multiple attempts to bring in fresh takes and understandings to a beloved story definitely paid off in the end, and made desirous to the see the film again (unfortunately, that never happened, so I wait with patience for the DVD- available two days after my birthday!)

Movie Review: Cloud Atlas

If this movie could be summed up in one simple phrase, I would go with "Babel on steroids". Like the 2005 film, Cloud Atlas consisted of a series of interconnecting plot lines that come together to create a single story. Those plot lines were sometimes set hundreds of years apart (from the 19th all the way to at least the 22nd century) and featured locations from around the globe.

Unlike Babel, however, structuring the film in such a way worked significantly to Atlas' disadvantage. Not only were the plot lines larger in number, but the the themes and material being dealt with had immense philosophical, sociopolitical and sometimes metaphysical undertones, so it was quite a lot to take and difficult to follow. This difficulty was further compounded by the fact that each actor (the cast was superb) played at least half a dozen parts throughout the various plot lines. This was not a bad idea in-and-of-itself, but here I think they took it a little too far. Another issue was that some of the characters spoke in such heavy/unusual accents (and sometimes not even in proper English) that a good part of the dialogue was hard to understand.

 
On a more positive note, the photography and visual effects of the film were excellent. The audience is treated to sweeping vistas of the Pacific islands, high-speed car chases on the streets of futuristic Seoul and beautiful views of pre-War Britain. The costuming and make-up were also superb. In many cases they were so good that I didn't know which actors were playing which parts until they were revealed in the closing credits (some actors played characters of both sexes).

As far as the overarching storyline goes, I detected subtle hints of Buddhist philosophy: all life- whether past, present or future- is connected and that there is always a desire to obtain truth and inner peace, no matter how high the cost.

Movie Review/Book Comparison: The Hunger Games

Well, after much deliberation, I took the proverbial plunge and treated myself to what is probably the hottest media franchise so far this year. The much-lauded adaptation of the first novel in Suzanne Collins' trilogy, although less impressive than it would be on the big/IMAX screen (do I regret not seeing it in theaters?), certainly delivered not only an accurate adaption of the original material but more than a healthy dose of action, drama and true human emotion.

As far as accuracy goes, I would give The Hunger Games a solid 85% for staying faithful to the book. All the major players were on the stage and delivered their lines beautifully. The most notable, or rather the most consistent, change was what I would call "trimming". In the book, there are significant stretches where the plot line becomes stilted/monotonous and action is at a minimum. Strictly speaking, however, this is probably a true reflection of how the characters actually felt during the competition; alone in the silent wilderness for hours or days at a time, sleeping with one eye open (cliche, I know, but very apt) while physically and emotionally exhausted, constantly on the watch in every direction with minimal food and water; its enough to make anyone anxious. In the movie, much of that slow-moving narrative, as well as sizable portions of general description and Katniss Everdeen's personal musings (the whole book was told in first person), were eliminated. While not seriously affecting the powerful emotional edge of the story, it did remove a good deal of the back story surrounding various characters, especially the more minor competitors. In this sense, if I had not read the book beforehand, I would have had a much more difficult time following the plot.

Another area of alteration that jumped out at me involved the aesthetics of the film (particularly the food, clothing/physical appearances and various physical settings, which Collins describes in precise detail), but this aspect was a bit more ambiguous than the alterations to the actual storyline. Although various aesthetic elements were altered from the book descriptions, the impact of those elements was still just as impressive (my personal favorite was the parade of the tributes, when Katniss and Peeta came blazing in wearing black leather with blue and orange flames streaming from their backs).

The accompanying music was either dramatic or intimate (sometimes both) when the situation required it, and lent a powerful feeling to the already stunning visuals and emotional plot line.

All in all, I believe that The Hunger Games certainly lives up to its monumental pop culture reputation, but I would recommend reading the original book first, if for no other reason than to fully appreciate Collins' skillful mastery of the hero's journey narrative.

SEE MY REVIEW OF THE ORIGINAL BOOK

Sword, Pearl and Rose

The full moon hung low in the starless sky,

its pale light gleaming off a steel halberd

as the sentry kept watch atop the lofty tower.

He drew his cloak fast around his shoulders.

Mid-winter was scarce a fortnight away,

yet the chill that grazed him now was not the work of nature.

His eyes swept across the barren landscape.

Trees and fields lay dead and fallow,

their once bright hues now dull and lifeless.

A sudden sound engaged his failing senses.

Steel and leather clinked like dripping rain

as a mounted figure approached the gate.

The sentry sighted upon the rider’s shield.

His halberd clanged upon the rough-hewn stones

as he blew his horn both loud and long.

The drawbridge lowered with a crash of thunder.

As a circle of torchlight enveloped the darkness,

the stranger drew near and removed his shabby cowl.

Chestnut hair hung ragged beneath a battered helm .

Eyes of piercing emerald shone in the darkness.

The left one bore a slender scar, running down from brow to cheek.

Two pages came running, their eyes ablaze with relief.

One grasped the reins as his master alighted.

The other bore hot mulled wine, steaming in a silver flagon.

The lord plodded wearily across the bridge,

born down by the weight of arms and armor,

and by sheer exhaustion of both body and soul.

The vaulted roof glowed in the light of the torches.

The lord was relieved of dagger and sword,

and so were the burdens of his helm, shield, and bow.

The clink of mail and clang of steel resounded in the hall.

As his armor was removed, piece by bloodstained piece,

the lord felt new life grow beneath his breast.

A page led the lord down a broad stone corridor,

into a room alight with many candles,

and bathed in the scent of fragrant herbs and oils.

A tub of water lay with its white steam curling into the air.

A sight of paradise as the lord had not seen for many a moon,

he disrobed and allowed the water to ease his weary form.

With his body pitted by ragged scars of battle,

and strands of liquid silver running through his hair,

the servants saw that their master had aged in more than years.

The lord was garbed in a robe of fine silk,

and seated down before a glowing fire.

Its merry light cast dancing shadows over his newly weathered face.

Servants came bearing trays and salvers.

Bread and meats were placed before him,

along with cheese, fruit, and the clearest ale.

Sated in body but not in spirit,

the lord bade his servants to retire,

and moved alone down a torch-lit passageway.

He stopped before doors of oak and iron.

With the strength of a lion but the temperance of a lamb,

he eased them open with nary a sound.

The light of a thousand candles met his eyes,

and the air he breathed was thick with incense.

On the cold, stone floor knelt his wife, beads clasped in her hand. 

Softly at first, but growing in tone,

he spoke aloud the sacred vows

they had exchanged so long ago.

The lady froze and rose to her feet.

Turning slowly with precision and care, she gasped aloud,

her round mouth obscured by her outspread hand.

With widespread eyes, she watched him approach.

As gentle as a breeze and blossom,

he brought her hand up to his lips.

His touch sent shivers through her very being.

His strong arms caught her as she nearly fell

and led her slowly from the room.

To their own chamber he led her now.

Silk brocades and woven rugs, as well as a shelf filled all with books

gleamed in the light of the roaring fire.

In the soft-glowing light of the bedside candle,

the lord examined his wife’s fine features.

The most beautiful sight he’d beheld in years.

Her blue-grey eyes like the steel of a sword,

with skin brightly pale as the finest pearl

and lips deep red as spring’s first rose.

Gazing into her sparkling eyes,

The lord stroked his wife’s smooth cheek

and with a gentle touch removed her veil.

Her long raven locks tumbled down,

like a new-made waterfall splitting the rocks

and gleaming wit the slightest silver.

The lord led his wife to bed,

and as his lips at last touched hers,

he deftly shed her every garment.

In the light of the slowly darkening fire,

her body shone like a pearl set in ivory,

and with one swift motion she cast off his robe.

They slipped into the fur-lined bed,

each one feeling the body of the other.

For a time, they lay silent, green and blue forever entwining.

As the fire grew dark and the candle burned low,

the lord looked toward the chamber door,

his keen ears straining for the slightest sound.

Hearing none, he turned back to his wife.

She wore a smile that could undo the heavens,

and he returned the gesture in kind.

Taking a hold of the silken cord,

he gently closed the velvet curtains,

just as the candle spent its last light.

Book Review: The Castle in the Attic

 

Along with Lloyd Alexander's The Book of Three, this story was instrumental in establishing my childhood love of fantasy literature. I remember my mother reading it to me, and later reading it on my own. I loved each and every page, and not just because of the story itself. The main character was someone I identified with on several levels, the most significant being his abiding love of gymnastics (a passion of mine from age 5 until age 17).

Ten-year old William Edward Lawrence has been cared for all his life by Mrs. Eleanor Phillips, an English widow who is preparing to return home at the end of the month. Having no children of her own, as a parting gift she bequeaths to William a scaled-down, fully functional stone model of a medieval castle, complete with a figure of a knight in silver armor, that has been in her family for generations. While dreading the departure of his beloved caretaker, William is given the biggest shock of his young life. At his touch, the figure of the silver knight mysteriously comes alive and reveals an incredible story: Sir Simon (the knight) was cheated of his kingdom by an evil wizard who murdered his father and turned Sir Simon into a lead statue. Eventually, using magic stolen by Sir Simon from the wizard himself, William enters the enchanted kingdom of the Silver Knight and embarks on a quest to defeat the tyrant wizard once and for all.

In addition to my personal gymnastics aspect, William was a character who was very easy to relate to. His feelings of anger, sadness, courage and even social awkwardness are things that all children go through at some time or another. In addition, what little boy doesn't enjoy stories of knights, castles and magic?

Overall, The Castle in the Attic is a touching, poignant and very human story about the joys and sorrows of growing up. You could even say that it was my very first introduction to the classic "hero's journey" archetype so important to my later storytelling interests (Star Wars, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings ect... ect...). I would highly recommend this story to any child with a love of fantasy, or an adult who wants to recapture some of that sweet, literary magic they enjoyed in their own childhoods.  

Book Review: The Book of Three

Although not as strong as it once was, my love of fantasy literature (a carry-over from my childhood and teenage years) still forms a part of my sense of personal identity. If this love could be traced to a single source, it would undoubtedly be The Book of Three, the first of five volumes in Lloyd Alexander's famous Chronicles of Prydain series, which I first read at the age of eight.

Set in the mystical world of Prydain, the story centers around the character Taran, an orphan being raised on a farm by an old and, shall we say, "eccentric" wise man. Harboring dreams of battle and glory, Taran is unexpectedly thrust into a whirlwind of events that could decide the fate of the entire kingdom.

It was not obvious to me until many years later, but Alexander's work is based almost entirely on traditional Welsh/Celtic mythology and folklore, with some characters sharing the exact same names. Taking this theme one step further, Alexander sets the story against a background of supernatural and historical mystery that could easily pass for a traditional bard's tale.

Each character in the book- from the wise leader Gwydion, to the enchantress princess Eilonwy to the lovable and mischievous scamp Gurgi- is written with such unique a personality that readers of any age (even if they don't fully understand the story) will be enthralled by and endeared to for many years to come.