Aslan as an Allegory for Christ

I once read an article that God’s love was conditional. It was shortly before my mission, and it really concerned me. I had been talking with one of my friends who left The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, when I told her that God’s love was unconditional. She said it wasn’t and I researched it on the Church’s website. After reading the article I found, I decided to talk with my bishop. He had also come across the same article and it troubled him at first, but then he used the last book in the series of “The Chronicles of Narnia” to explain it to me. He told me about three groups that enter the same shed, but find very different things there. It was then that I understood God’s love is always there, but we will not always feel it.

            Religious allegories make eternal truths accessible. C.S. Lewis’s “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” uses fantasy to appeal to children and makes the biblical story of Christ interesting and understandable. With these affordances, however, there are also limitations to further appreciation and interpretation.

            “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” holds a comparison similar to the one used by my former bishop. When Aslan’s name is mentioned for the first time, “everyone felt quite different…. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realise that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer” (p. 67). They each felt something different because of their poor or proper behavior. In LDS doctrine, we talk of feeling comfortable in the presence of God. We can only feel comfortable in His presence because of Christ’s sacrifice, but our actions will have an effect on our guilt. Edmund had been deliberately deceitful to his siblings and, as such, could not feel good about the prospect of meeting the King.  Peter, Susan, and Lucy were delighted because they were not weighed with guilt. In the end, we are all unworthy to be in God’s presence of our own accord, which is why they tremble when the opportunity to meet Aslan finally comes. The allegory is very didactic, telling children they must be good to be happy with God. While this is true in part, it forgets that the Atonement is not only for obvious sins, but for everything. “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” states that Aslan died for Edmund, but children may not expand that understanding to realize that Christ died for everyone.

            “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” is a good beginning, but it does not allow for a full comprehension. I am grateful for the metaphor my bishop used to help me understand an eternal principle that was hard to grasp, but I know there are nuances that I do not understand. The same will be for children who read the story of Aslan and these children, and they will need to look to other books to learn beyond the allegory.

Side note: I never understood the reference of this song by one of my favorite bands in high school. Now I do :)

"Brave" and Independent Women: The Fall of Fatherhood and Family in Film

I am grateful for the increasingly positive portrayals of motherhood in mainstream media, but not when it comes at the expense of mocking fatherhood. As a true feminist, I believe in equality of respect for both genders in whatever role they choose to take on. "Brave" (dir. Mark Andrews and Brenda Chapman, 2012), although it holds an uplifting message about mother-daughter relations, insults fathers with its one-dimensional dad.

"Brave" follows the story of Merida, a Scottish princess with a pushy mother. Her mother, Elinor, encourages her to choose a suitor, but Merida, feeling unready, finds a witch and asks for a spell to change her mom. The potion ends up turning her mother into a bear and it is only through reconciliation that the magic can be undone.

At the beginning of the film, typical gender roles and stereotypes exist. When Merida's father gives her a bow and arrow for her birthday, the mother is mortified and repeats later that weapons aren't proper for a lady to possess. Elinor teaches her that princesses must be lady-like, and the ultimate goal is to become a queen and prepare to wed a king. Writing under the assumption of LDS doctrine that families are essential to God's plans, I also believe this is our ultimate goal, but a family consists of a husband and wife working together to care for children.

Unfortunately, being a nurturing father is not seen as honorably masculine. Masculinity is characterized by aggression and independence. And nowadays many media portrayals characterize men and fathers as useless and incompetent. "Brave" limits men to this, too. First, when the other tribes arrive, they fight about their greatness. King Fergus laughs, and it is not settled until Elinor interrupts and brings order. The tribes fight again when the queen is missing and has not come to give a decision for the betrothal. The king involves himself in the mess and Merida saves the day this time. Finally, as the tribes fight the Mor'du, it is only the mother as a bear that is able to defeat him. Merida and Elinor never need Fergus. The family does not come together to work as a team. This sends a message to men that they are unnecessary and incapable within a family. Viewing themselves as pointless within family life, men avoid preparing for a family and focus on acquiring attributes other than nurturing. The times that Elinor and Fergus are together, their parenting styles conflict and there is continual discord. Can’t parents work together in unity? Don’t we need some good examples for children to see?

Although “Brave” limits the portrayal of fatherhood, it does redeem itself by showing the importance of motherhood. It expands motherhood beyond homemaking by placing Elinor in a position of power where her influence is significant, but the film also teaches the significance of her role as a mother with an emphasis on the effect of loving, listening, and understanding within that relationship. It also calls children to do the same. Not all responsibility is on the parent to create a harmonious home. Merida has to humble herself and appreciate her mother before the curse is lifted.

Children can learn from Queen Elinor and Princess Merida’s examples to be patient and full of love, but they are limited to seeing men as aggressive idiots because of King Fergus’ example. These portrayals hinder an understanding of healthy family relationships and an ability to see fatherhood as an important part of masculinity.

Additional viewing: One of my favorite films, "Waitress," does the same thing. The men are lustful and abusive. Kerri Russell's character progresses more without them. It is an important story about a woman surviving and overcoming harmful relationships, and it is an important representation of a different family dynamic, but does good fathering have to be sacrificed for strong mothers?

The Importance of Dad's: Fatherhood--Our Eternal Destiny

I Wish: Child-like Perspective on Miracles and Traditions

Before we began “I Wish” (dir. Koreeda, 2011), our professor asked us how the child’s perspective is privileged in the film. Through cinematography, story elements, and assumptions made about children’s beliefs, the film is able to “understand children,” as one critic said.

            “I Wish” is the story of two brothers. One of them, Koichi, who lives with their mother, hears a myth from a friend that when two bullet trains pass each other, a miracle happens, and upon seeing can make miracle happen in the viewers life. He plans a trip with the same friends to watch and make their wishes. He tells his younger brother, Ryu, who lives far away with their father, and he proposes to his friends that they also go. When they finally meet to witness the miracle together, it’s been six months.

            As we see their lives parallel, participating in similar activities such as school and spending time with friends, we also see the contrast in their perspectives. Koichi wishes for their parents to get back together so they can live together again. Koichi dreams of how they used to be with his family enjoying a picnic together. It affords child perspective because Koichi himself narrates it. Not only does the audience see what Koichi sees in his dream, but we also hear how he interprets it. Ryu on the other hand dreams of how their parents were constantly fighting. He also narrates. Viewers experience first-hand accounts, and moreover does not limit children to idealists as Ryu’s dream contrasts with Koichi’s.

            Another way in which the film “understands children” is through the camera’s position. It is always leveled with the children. One particularly memorable shot is when Ryu prepares to ask his father for money. The camera is stationary as Ryu sits. The father is forced to come into the frame by sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his son.

The film creates a believable backdrop to the story with its presumption about kids and the merit they give myths. Just like it is children that are able to believe in Santa Claus, it is also children that pursue this bullet-train-miracle-legend. A child’s perspective is one that hopes in fictional possibilities because they are not jaded by reality.

Children’s media is important in perpetuating legends, and legends are often a significant factor in family traditions. In “I Wish,” Ryu and Koichi start a tradition by traveling hundreds of miles by train to see each other. It is hinted that they will do it again. But it started because of a Japanese tradition of seeing two bullet trains pass each other produces a miracle. The film is rooted in tradition and legend perpetuating the old and creating new. “My Grandmother Ironed the King’s  Shirts” (dir. Kove, 1999) also represents this effect of tradition and tales on family and childhood. The grandmother of the filmmaker created the legend by doing what is depicted in the story. The filmmaker perpetuates tradition in creating the film that will continue telling the story for her, but also preserves a family tradition of storytelling just in a different medium (film vs. spoken). Both films create and perpetuate tradition of familial and cultural significance.

            “I Wish” provides children’s perspectives to be explored. Director Hirokazu Koreeda helps us to understand children by helping us see how they see, dream how they dream, and believe how they believe.

While I was watching "I Wish," I was reminded of another film ("Little Manhattan", dir. Levin and Flackett, 2005) that shows the perspective of a child coping with the divorce of his parents. (It's Peeta before he was Peeta!)

And this film ("A Little Romance", dir. George Roy Hill, 1979) is another example about belief in legends providing for a childhood adventure. (Diane Lane when she was a teenager!) 

Empowerment in Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Environmentalism informs Hayao Miyazaki's "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind" in a way that empowers viewers rather than inhibits their agency. Although melodramatic elements exist, there is ambiguity when collaboration must occur between humans of differing values. The film may also inspire young viewers because the hero is not only a child, but also female.

Nausicaa lives in a world where the environment is attacking humans. They see the fight with nature as a dichotomy. The Pejite and Tolmekians want to destroy the “Toxic Jungle.” Nausicaa is involved in learning more about the jungle and the spores that make it toxic. She finds that with water, the spores actually purify the earth and make it flourish, but because of fighting and power struggles she is unable to focus on this. Because of her compassion she earns the trust of the Pejite people and she is even able to calm the Ohmus, the aggressive creatures that fight for the forest. Even the Tolmekians end up relying on Nausicaa’s charity because their violence has brought them nothing.

Unlike “Fern Gully,” which consists of an objectified bad guy (an oil monster), “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” points the blame at humans. Because the audience knows where the problem originates from they are better able to address it. Also unlike “Fern Gully,” where we discussed in class that it is the fairies that save the day, in “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind” it is also people that provide solutions. Viewers learn that they can be the source of the issue or the reason for resolution depending on their actions.

The film operates under the ideology that humans are currently in opposition to nature, but that they can co-exist in harmony. This is a common theme within Miyazaki’s films as he incorporates beliefs of Shintoism defined on Wikipedia “as an action-centered religion, focused on ritual practices to be carried out diligently, to establish a connection between present-day Japan and its ancient past.” This involves being one with nature. This is seen in Goro Miyazaki’s film, which was written by Hayao Miyazaki, “From Up On Poppy Hill.” A compromise between the past and present is required just as a compromise between nature and humans is required in “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind.”

The film expects the viewer to act in its implied hope that the audience will relate to Nausicaa’s character. She is likeable within the story by other characters and off-screen by the viewers. She strives to help people and the natural world. That is something that those watching can do. They can be kind and empathetic. The call to action is not unrealistic and thus allows the audience to exercise agency and follow Nausicaa’s example.

Finding Friends Away from Home: The Wind in the Willows

The Wind in the Willows is filled with an aching for home. Nostalgia as defined in class is the appropriation of a past, specifically childhood by adults. The author longs for the past, but children can enjoy the portrayal in this story particularly because the manifestation is through human-like animals yearning for their piece of the outdoors whether it’s by the river or in the ground. Their aching is inherently tied to their senses—smell and sound most commonly. But it the giving up of this longing that fosters friendship and provides opportunity for progress.

            The story begins with Mole who leaves his home behind and finds a new one amongst friends by the riverbank.  Rat is his closest confidant and very attached to the water. They enjoy boating together and walking about. Rat and Mole also adventure with their irresponsible friend Toad. It is not until Mole ventures away from comfort into the Wild Wood that he appreciates what he left behind because in the midst of danger, he finds solace in Badger’s home.  “But underground to come back to at last—that’s my idea of home!” (p. 44) Badger and Mole bond over this commonality, but Mole’s loyalty remains to Rat, as Rat feels anxious to return to the riverbank.  Because Mole is willing to sacrifice “home” for his friend, he is able to make a new home. He leaves behind a life underground for a life by the riverbank, and also gains friends as he leaves a life of loneliness.

            However, Rat also sacrifices in order to maintain his friendship with Mole. Mole so dutifully and devotedly follows Rat in their trek back even when the “wafts from his old home pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him imperiously.” (p. 51) But when Mole breaks down and explains this to Rat through sobs, Rat is willing to put his own desire for home on hold. I think Rat is able to make this realization because of how attached he is to the riverbank and he is able to empathize with Mole. This sacrifice of home for friends continues.

Mole reminisces as he settles into his own bed that evening “how much it all meant to him.” (p. 59) The use of past tense here signifies that he is moving on because he has made a new home with the Rat. He cherishes the memories of his first home, but he has made new ones and grown attached to a different place.

Rat struggles with an aching, too, and ultimately gives it up to stay with Mole. The swallows describe this call from the South that they feel, and in due time the call back to the North. He meets a sea rat that makes him desire a bigger body of water to travel on. The sea rat is also longing; he describes the sounds of his travels: “the song and tramp of the sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain coming merrily in.” (p. 102) These animals have multiple homes and Rat thinks to go beyond and find more for himself, but Mole holds him back.

Both Rat and Mole have this nostalgia for lives away from each other, but their friendship makes the past and different futures unattainable. In the end, they grow a great deal from their association with one another. Mole becomes braver and smarter. Rat becomes softer and more selfless, and, more importantly, has the context in which to express these things.

The experiences of these animals may represent a yearning on the part of the author. These stories were originally letters to his children. Perhaps they play a part in teaching morality, although as bad as Toad is, his friends still love him. Instead then maybe it is a message to cherish friendships while they last and do all you can to help them last. There is also a message of spirituality and the sound that Rat catches in the wind first, and then Mole. They are led by a creature to Portly and there's this spiritual moment that's tied to this aching for nature caused by the sounds and feelings that draw them to it. But the message carried in the song is to forget. The author is ultimately saying we have to let go of things to grab hold of others just as Mole leaves his abode to be with Rat.

Why must fireflies die so young?: Seita and Setsuko in Wartime Japan

Three levels of diversity in childhood experience operate within “Grave of the Fireflies” (1988. dir. Isao Takahata). Culture, war, and poverty expose a different kind of childhood while critiquing adult responsibility and reaction to the experiences of the children, Seita and Setsuko. Ultimately, the film represents the power of familial bonds and their effect on these experiences.

            The film begins with Seita’s death, but his past and how he ended up starving in a train station is framed by a train ride through Japan with his sister, Setsuko. From the train we travel to the time of the air raid that killed their mother and destroyed their home, then to the town where they stayed with distant relatives, and finally to the shelter where they tried to survive on their own.

            “Grave of the Fireflies” takes place in Japan during World War II. The film is unique for its Japanese point of view, and that the story is told through the medium of anime. The music sounds like a Japanese lullaby, which emphasizes the culture and age group of the film’s perspective. The juxtaposition of animation and soft music with the harsh reality of war accentuates the haunting nature of this childhood experience. This reminds me of our class conversation about Malick’s “Days of Heaven” and the Great Depression being made accessible through the lens of a child. However, for me, the film becomes harder to process because of the cruelty these children have to endure. Like the documentary “Promises,” which tells the tale of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from the viewpoint of kids, “Grave of the Fireflies” also shares a side of the story that often goes unheard.

No child should ever have to witness piles of bodies, which include their own mother, being burned in a ditch, but they do because their childhood coincides with wartime.  As a high schooler, I learned about the atrocities of war, but always from an American textbook. The atom bombs dropped toward the end were not the only part of the war to devastate the country. There is devastation long before with families torn apart because of military service and death by bombing. Seita and Setsuko are orphaned, and Seita is thrust into adulthood to provide for himself and his sister.

I have never experienced war or poverty. I have grown up in a world where adults help me. The severity of Seita and Setsuko’s experience is realized as the audience witnesses that their starvation and malnutrition was preventable. The aunt they live with for a time does not experience the same sympathy for the children that we do. She adds insult to injury and berates Seita for being lazy when in reality he is living to keep his sister happy. Another adult catches him stealing after they have started living on their own in an abandoned bomb shelter and beats Seita. There is no consideration of what he has been through until the local authority takes pity on him and dismisses the villager that already punished Seita for his “crime.” A doctor tells them the obvious, all they need is food to be well again, but in desperation and discouragement, Setsuko cries, “WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GET FOOD?”

In spite of all Seita does to tend to his sister’s needs, Setsuko passes away. She has also grown within the harsh realities of war. Her tantrums were comforted by fruit drops, but in the end she realizes her and her brother being together is the most important thing. She pretends to have made rice cakes with rocks she offers Seita wanting to give back to him for all that he has done. But Seita dies shortly after and the audience can infer that it was their relationship and his love and responsibility for her that kept him alive. This co-dependency has evidence in the science of human development, but is displayed so heartbreakingly through the perspective of the children themselves.

The narrative puts a new perspective at the center of the film. Childhood sheds a different light on war and poverty, one where the light of fireflies and family love are the only things that provide real comfort when basic needs fail. Setsuko asks, “Why must fireflies die so young?” and the audience is left to ask the same of these children.