Final Essay - Finished

Film and how the medium fails to explain the religious ideas of Tolkien. Also, how a film about The Great Divorce might look.

It's 2015. People don't really read anymore. At least not like they used to. Kids are growing up now with phones in their hands. Look, a Snapchat update. Hey, someone updated their Twitter feed. Whoa, look how many vacation photographs he has on his Facebook.

Garbage.

Even if kids pick up a book, it's usually to hide their phones behind it. If it isn't being used as a ruse to fool the teacher, the thing is inevitably at the background of the mind as the kid thinks of what they'll say back to their friend as they feel the vibration in their pocket.

More garbage. But I digress.

So, in this new era of absolute shallow, trivial, social media-driven existence, it's imperative that filmmakers rise to the challenge of actually informing young minds in a constructive manner. After all, the majority of kids today would much rather watch a film than read a novel. Often, film is the first medium that will expose them to a new series, trilogy, universe, and as it is so often said to the point of insane redundancy, "you can only make a first impression once." For filmmakers, they need to inspire children and drive them to learn more. More. More.

 Michael Bay: A man who values explosions over character development

Unfortunately, however, with the rather inexpensive alternative to building physical sets, props, and costumes, computer technology has allowed a lot of filmmakers to become extremely lazy. Films have turned into movies and have become obnoxiously loud, in your face, and tent-pole properties that need to make half a billion to a billion dollars to be considered successful. People may be having fun in the theater, but once they leave, they largely forget what they just saw and move about their lives. The first impression is extremely short-lived.

One of the better, more recent examples of a film series that has largely failed is The Hobbit trilogy. As most know, The Hobbit is a much shorter book than any of The Lord of the Rings novels but yet has three movies. Clearly, its former length of two films was lengthened to three because of the success of the original Lord of the Rings trilogy. And, yes, the film industry is a business affair and the studios and people involved need to make money but do we need to beat the characters we love to death in films that are churned out annually for not much else than a huge paycheck?

This is where it's important to remember that films can still be a form of artistic expression. We can, and need, to erase the idea that they must be these huge, crazy events. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, they can still be made with heart and be successful. To take it one step further, if they're made with heart, they'll be successful regardless of the box office returns.

But before I lose the reader in motivational ramblings, I'd like to turn the topic more toward Lewis and Tolkien. These are two authors who have created incredible worlds that have the potential to teach a lot of people a lot of amazing things about life (to put it vaguely) when their work is translated to the medium of film. So, how and should this transition be done without turning into a director who doesn't really have much to say (see: Michael Bay)?

Guillermo del Toro: A man who acts as a beacon of light in these dark times

One of the best ways is to treat special effects as, well, not special. Guillermo del Toro has stated numerous times that he uses them in such a way that they simply blend on-screen with the actual, physical elements of the scene. They aren't special. They're just there. They're also used rather sparingly, with almost as much of the film being occupied by real costumes, sets, props, animatronics, etc. A pleasing balance in most of del Toro's films is present because he knows how to appropriately mix special and practical effects.

This is where the gap in years between The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit trilogy is most striking. As hard as it is to hear, the former films started filming in 1999. That's sixteen years ago. Back then, an emphasis was on practical effects because films were limited by technology. And here's the thing: that's okay. As a younger kid, I was able to connect with those films because they simply felt more real than The Hobbit trilogy. I knew that the majority of what I saw on film was actually there and I was inspired. With Bilbo and his recent outing, however, I felt less inspired and more disappointed.

Make no mistake, though. I very much enjoy computer-generated effects, but when I can easily see that the plates the dwarves are throwing around (in the first film) are so obviously fake (especially because of the ridiculous decision to film in 48 FPS), I'm simply thrown out of that universe. Why not, you know, just throw real plates around? I guess there's the whole issue of an actor being injured on set. You know, insurance and all that...

So, how could (should) something, like, say, The Great Divorce be filmed? If I were to direct and/or write such a film, I would review topics discussed in class. I quite like the rather difficult journey Lewis made in discovering his faith. I would, at the least, keep that journey in my mind as I film, thinking of ways I could subtly hint at it or ways I could insert its "feel" into the picture. I think it would also be wise to compare Lewis and Tolkien. Lewis seemed much more assertive in his writing and Tolkien much more subtle. In keeping this assertiveness and straightforward tone in mind, I would need to remember that I shouldn't let Lewis' message become "too loud," and devolve into another film that has little to say.

And this brings me to another form of film-making: hand-drawn pictures. There's a special kind of intimacy found in these types of films. A connection between the artist and paper is more immediate and personal. Sure, people still draw with tablets and Photoshop (I do the same) and are essentially doing the same thing as animators in the early 90s, but I feel as if something, some sort of magic, is lost once a storyboard or scene can be changed so quickly with tools most people don't even understand. Maybe I'm going "too far" here but at least with The Great Divorce, the analogy of people becoming more solid as they become closer to God would be more complete if those involved have a more immediate connection to the origins of their craft in the form of putting pencil to paper.

Background scenery for The Secret World of Arrietty (2012)

In other words, The Great Divorce sounds like it should be an intimate, quiet film, and an approach similar to the work Studio Ghibli does would be ideal. Unlike Jackson who would inflate the budget for a film that really doesn't need it (see: The Lovely Bones), I could see Hayao Miyazaki producing, directing and/or writing a hand-drawn account of those struggling with their faith in a short but sweet 90-minute film. This might sound like a "no shit" idea but Hollywood has surprised us before (again, The Lovely Bones).

What I'm trying to say is that The Great Divorce would be best suited for an Indie-sized budget, with relatively unknown actors, and an attention to substance over style. In such a quiet but purposeful delivery, those watching would hopefully become connected to the film, be inspired to read the source material, and then continue to ask and answer difficult questions.

It's only fitting, then, that I go into further detail of how I would set up a specific scene for The Great Divorce, because, you know, I have so much experience making film. I'm being sarcastic, of course, but I do feel as if my mind's eye not being cluttered by the promise of money can allow me to think a little more clearly at times than most directors. In addition, I'd like to tie this topic to the first prompt of the semester in light of the popularity of films post-Lewis and Tolkien. As said before, it's important for filmmakers to understand how to approach the challenge of making a memorable first impression, especially when the allure of ruining that impression through the ease of computer-generated effects is always so present.

Anyway.

Camera movement would play a pivotal role during the entire film but would be emphasized during the interaction between the Tragedian, the Dwarf, and the Lady (again, to reference the first prompt). When focused on the latter of the three, movement would be non-existent or limited to very clean, steady shifts from left to right or right to left. However, while focusing on the former two, movement would be somewhat unpredictable, almost shaky. As the Dwarf's comments become more insidious and bitter, movement would reflect this gradual increase in anger and begin to become more unsteady. Conversely, shots that would go back to the Lady would be centered on her face, unmoving, portrait-like. This type of movement would underscore both her control (more solid state) and the Dwarf and Tragedian's lack of understanding (less solid state).

Music or any sort of ambient sound would be completely absent, allowing the viewer to focus entirely on the conversation. Sound would be manipulated, however, when the Tragedian speaks. It would most likely be deep and threatening whereas the Dwarf would have a higher pitched voice. Such a different pitch in tone would reinforce the Tragedian's dominance and the Dwarf's submissive qualities.

Other general notes would include strictly 2-D release (3-D is gimmicky and overrated) and, again, a focus on hand-drawn visuals and relatively unknown or completely unknown actors.

Actually, come to think of it, this type of story might benefit greatly from a Netflix-like approach, where each few chapters, or an interaction with a new character, could be an episode within the series. This more subtle approach would emphasize story in favor of profit. Plus, watching these types of character interactions on a smaller screen would further the intimacy of the experience. It would depend on the viewer of course - whether they would want to watch in a noisy family room or quietly alone in their bedroom - but the alternative of showing in a large theater would be full of many more potential issues: a crying baby, loud groups of friends, the kicking of the backs of seats, thinking of the price of popcorn and candy, cell phone interruptions, etc.

 C.S. Lewis

Even the composition found within the frame would reflect the current mental state of each character. The Lady, beautiful and elegant and enlightened as she is, would be framed in, for example, the top-left third of the frame above the Dwarf and Tragedian. The latter two, however, would sit uncomfortably right against the edge of the frame, creating that dreaded "line of coincidence" that so many filmmakers, painters, and photographers avoid (unless of course they're trying to make a statement, as in this case).

I could go on and on but the point is that film has all of the tricks, tools, and elements necessary to relate Lewis and Tolkien's thoughts to the medium of the moving picture. Unfortunately, though, many filmmakers don't want to make a small, smart film like this. To the dismay of many, Peter Jackson has taken a delicate story (The Hobbit) like the one above and has turned it into a blockbuster that's big on effects, big on famous actors, and little else. Viggo Mortensen, who played Aragorn in the original trilogy, accurately summarizes Jackson's shift in this type of thinking and film-making:

Also, Peter was always a geek in terms of technology but, once he had the means to do it, and the evolution of the technology really took off, he never looked back. In the first movie, yes, there’s Rivendell, and Mordor, but there’s sort of an organic quality to it, actors acting with each other, and real landscapes; it’s grittier. The second movie already started ballooning, for my taste, and then by the third one, there were a lot of special effects. It was grandiose, and all that, but whatever was subtle, in the first movie, gradually got lost in the second and third. Now with The Hobbit, one and two, it’s like that to the power of 10.

Grittier, as Mortensen mentions, is what I, and many, prefer. Forget the overuse of synthetic, clean computer-generated effects and give us something that can be remembered, something that's real. Give us what's really important: the story. Give us the characters who suffer through truly terrible, universal problems. And, finally, give us the authors' answers on how to address or cope with these problems. Take us from the power of ten to the power of one.

Note: All images found on Google. Mortensen quote found here.

Prompt 3 - Finished

Find a passage in A Grief Observed that seems to mark an advance in Lewis's thought. Explain it, and compare it with some earlier example of what he thought. Five or six paragraphs on your website.

"A Grief Observed" is an odd piece of writing coming from Lewis. It shows a man stumbling through his thoughts. Unlike his previous work, Lewis is more or less writing to come (hopefully) to some sort of conclusion about what he has learned from his wife's death. By collecting and then reviewing notes he has written throughout the weeks, he pieces together a kind of chronological understanding of his grief. In a sense, this isn't a work of fiction at all, as is with, say, "The Great Divorce," but a close, personal look into the thoughts and questions of a man struggling deeply.

One of the more interesting passages is found on page 667. Here, Lewis wrestles with some controversial ideas: "why should the separation (if nothing else) which so agonizes the lover who is left behind be painless to the lover who departs? 'Because she is in God's hands.' But if so, she was in God's hands all the time ... Do they suddenly become gentler to us the moment we are out of the body?" Clearly, Lewis is more pessimistic than he has been before. He alludes to the idea that God may be somewhat harsh, even in the afterlife. Or, rather, that the same grief that affects us on earth is capable of doing the same in heaven.

This is a rather different idea when compared to the writing found in "The Great Divorce." In that piece, the more righteous, honest, noble, and true people are, the more "solid" they become. It goes without saying, really, that Lewis would look at H. as honest and therefore not one of the individuals to be found on the omnibus that travels back to Hell. H. would be a more solid individual and therefore without much pain. She would guide transparent, less solid ghosts and do so courageously, as does the woman with the large following (529-532). Having said all this, when one reads the above passage from "A Grief Observed," Lewis seems to be describing someone who is more transparent than solid, more concerned with the leaving of her husband than the acceptance of meeting God.

This different kind of writing continues when Lewis admits, "I wrote that last night. It was a yell rather than a thought. Let me try it over again. Is it rational to believe in a bad God? (669). This kind of recognition of writing too hurriedly or coming up with explanations that are ultimately wrong occurs a few times throughout the writing and reveals Lewis' comfort in not being so damn right all the time. That he re-phrases questions is an indication that he is growing as an individual, that he is learning from his grief. He isn't afraid to make mistakes or act out with emotion in his writing. Here, without question, he reveals the personal nature of the piece.

This personal touch is further revealed when he mentions how the quote of "Do not mourn like those that have no hope" from C. really doesn't help him at all (667). Unlike his rather arrogant way (as detailed early in his autobiography) of placing material read on the same plain as actually experiencing things, he is quick to realize that quotes that once used to make sense to him now don't due to his immediate experience of pain and grief. In short, his grief overshadows any advice his friends or books would offer him.

Possibly the most uncomfortable part of "A Grief Observed" is how, at first, Lewis seems to be close to giving up his faith. At times, he seems to be nearly ready to cave, content with regressing to an earlier part of his life where God plays little-to-no part in it. This temporary hesitation in faith, however, marks the greatest advance in his thoughts as he is ultimately able to learn from an almost overwhelming loss. Complete fiction has given way to true, raw, immediate thoughts influenced directly by H.'s passing.

Prompt 2 - Finished

Trace the stages of Lewis's conversion to Christianity, citing when appropriate from Wilson's biography. Six paragraphs or so on your website.

As discussed at length in class, Lewis moves through four rather distinct stages of religious (or lack-thereof) thought before arriving at his understanding of Christianity as the "true myth." Through Wilson's biography, readers are able to understand these stages and the difficulties and triumphs involved.

1) Lewis as materialist.

At this point in his life, Lewis is far behind schedule in his thinking (according to class discussion, at least). He looks at the world and sees stuff. Things. There isn't really anything "out there" or a god who is watching out for humanity. In this worldview, the world is comprised of objects and that's about it. This world offers no salvation and is largely a dark place. This fairly pessimistic mindset could be due in part to his upbringing: "The impression given in Surprised by Joy is that he grew up in a religiously wishy-washy household. No emphasis is given to his father's profound piety, nor to the theological preoccupations of grandfather Lewis" (24).

This "wishy-washy" environment isn't conducive to someone trying to grow in faith. A lack of focus in any direction could understandably lead people to close off their minds from religious topics. Such a decision is easy, after all. To top it off, Cherbourg, the school Lewis went to as a young boy, had three things that left him uninspired by faith: Miss C, Pogo, and his interest in the classics (28). For now, at least, Lewis seemed to be more interested in getting good grades and little else.

2) Lewis as 19th century idealist.

Thinking as an idealist is slightly more progressive in comparison to the last stage. Instead of the world having nothing but objects and material things, the world is full of ideas about those objects. Rather than looking at objects as objects, people have ideas about those objects. They have ideas about, say, truth. Lewis reveals a manner of thinking more in line with these ideas later on in life. Wilson writes, "this was the knowledge that human life is best understood by the exercise not only of the wit, but also of the imagination" (77). Wilson then proceeds to mention the attraction Lewis has to the feeling of autumn, the sense of Northerness, and more (77). Lewis feels a kind of attraction to ideas, underscoring the more abstract nature of this stage of his conversion.

3) Lewis as believing in God who demands duty.

The third stage of his conversion marks a higher degree of frustration for Lewis. Here, he recognizes that there is an absolute, and this absolute has the "correct idea." Many will try to come forward with what they believe but it's only this god, this absolute, that knows what is absolutely correct. This is a god who is largely absent from people's lives (he isn't a personal god) and is therefore a rather harsh god, looking for a strong sense of duty from people.

Lewis very reluctantly moves forward: "some time in that summer of 1929, in his college rooms in Magdalen, he 'gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed; perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England'" (110). The reason for such reluctance is simply because Lewis wanted to be alone. Class discussions continually point to his very reclusive nature. Sure, he enjoyed a drink here and there, and liked to be around people, but his ideal afternoon was sitting by a window, alone, reading a book with a nice cup of tea. He didn't like the idea of a god requiring things of him. And this is all before his last stage of conversion, one that encouraged not just a dialogue between one's self and God, but also between other people.

4) Lewis as understanding Christianity as the true myth.

The final stage is one where Lewis would consider himself to be Christian. Unlike his previous god who desired no personal connection with his followers, the Christian god wanted just the opposite. This god was able to encourage people to grow to a much greater degree. In class, three opportunities this myth affords humans were listed. They are as follows:

1. Humans can grasp stuff in a narrative fashion.
2. Myth allows people to relate to the story.
3. Story of Jesus places humans into a community.

His long-time friend, J.R.R. Tolkien was instrumental in this conversion. Wilson writes, "it was the conviction of Tolkein (a Roman Catholic) that truth is best discerned through myth which finally tipped the balance" (137). Lewis, ever since childhood, was attracted to myths and the stories they told. However, he was concerned about their ability to teach humans anything. He was concerned, at least at first, about their historical power. Tolkien helps Lewis through these issues with pieces of writing like his poem "Mythopoeia" which explain that language helps form humans' understanding of the world.

Encouragingly, Lewis was deeply inspired by his conversion: "what we do know is that his full conversion to Christianity released in him a literary flow which only ceased with death" (133).

Prompt 1 - Finished

Choose one of the characters in The Great Divorce and explain how sin is a diminishment, a movement toward nothing, and what that means for human moral character in our world. Five or six paragraphs on your website.

One of the more hostile and frustrated ghosts in Lewis' short piece of writing recounts, in anxious detail, the apparent faults of her now absent husband. Hilda, as the spirit is named, must endure the ghost's incessant complaints: "I was working my fingers to the bone for him...the trouble I went to, entertaining...I have always done my duty" (514). That the ghost is characterizing her past self as an almost slave-like figure leaves the reader unsurprised in regard to her transparent, non-solid predicament.

One might initially side with the ghost, accept her complaints as valid. Maybe her husband really was as terrible as she makes him sound. Maybe he really was the "old bear of a husband" she so aptly calls him (515). As her rambling continues, however, one begins to understand her sense of denial, sadness, and one-sided viewpoint. Her last few comments sputter out of her mouth in a hurry and reveal why she is the one who is sinning. She says, "I'm so miserable. I must have someone to--to do things to" (516). That she must have someone to "do things to" is an indication of her habit of looking at her husband as more of an object than a person. He functioned as project for his wife. When recalling that he had friends and a large amount of wealth, things his wife lacked (she never mentions actually having anything), it's obvious she was trying to live vicariously through her husband.

And this is where the majority of the class discussion comes forward. In denying that it was she who had issues and faults, she was essentially ignoring a part of herself. If someone ignores their sins, they become smaller. Traits like faithfulness, love, acceptance, forgiveness, compassion, and patience are God-like. They're "bigger" things than traits like envy, greed, jealousy, anger, etc. The ghost possessed many of the latter attributes, unfortunately. In not being able to face her faults, she "snapped" like a "dying candle-flame" at the end of the chapter (516).

Now, for human moral character in the "real" world, the here and now, this means that people may not "snap," surely, but they lose friends, anger husbands, depress wives, alienate co-workers, destroy sibling relationships, and more. For the ghost's case, she even implies that she enjoyed the attention the younger men would giver her over her husband (515). Clearly, her sins began to eat away at their relationship.

Despite Lewis' fictional account of what occurs on an ascent to Heaven, a lot of what occurs remains grounded, somewhat, in reality. Sure, ghosts may be literally transparent, but people (on Earth) who have forgotten the "big," important things begin to fade away in a similar manner. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. Those who know someone like the ghost wife will choose to, and eventually subconsciously, ignore her or shift their focus elsewhere after becoming familiar with her jealousy, ill attitude, and negative viewpoint when thinking of her husband. They'll gloss over her to look for more "solid" individuals, ones who are "bigger."

When people have such a claustrophobic, narrow view of the world, they miss out on God. If they don't, as was discussed today, take the time to be aware of other things - a tree, a chair, other people, a dog - they aren't aware of God and fall into an egocentric lifestyle. Ironically, the ghost was too aware of her husband, didn't spend enough time trying to fix her faults, and began to fade as a result.