Film, Literature, & the Human Condition

Not many people would consider a comic strip to be literature, but I must confess that I do, in particular, the body of work by a Mr. Charles M. Schulz. Literature is simply works of the creative imagination, works that give us pause, make us think, and break our hearts. There are many ways to break someones heart, but the pure, unadulterated statements Mr. Schulz makes about humanity through his characters are enigmatically powerful. We begin reading the panel unsuspecting of how we will feel by the end of it. That these characters are children, and these children are so articulate and profound about human sadness, is a statement on its own. It discusses very intense themes, such as loneliness, isolation, melancholy, unrequited love, and infuses them with a lightness and laughter that somehow illuminates the bitterness of life. Peanuts is not simply a comic strip, it is one of the most thoughtful works of art ever created. (continue reading…)

Whenever someone thinks of Sherlock Holmes, a sort of cliche comes to mind. He is a consummate example of the great detective, more than just an icon, but a template for all detectives in literature. With his trademark deerstalker hat, hooded duster, and smoking pipe, Holmes comes full with a sophisticated elocution and a highly intelligent, though often inarticulate, sidekick. This is a formula that has successfully been emulated time and time again from Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot to Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. These characters are very intriguing and well drawn out in their own right, but there is something more to Holmes, as deliciously characterized by the great Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This character is raw, elemental, and, to put it best, strange. (continue reading…)

When I managed to stumble across a copy of the screenplay for The Matrix Reloaded, I intended to merely sift through it. I wound up reading the whole thing in one sitting, forgetting I had even seen any of the movies and in a way, I really hadn’t. I admit, I watched the entire Matrix trilogy with only a minuscule understanding of what was happening. I followed the narrative, cared about the characters, and was obviously blown away by the cinematic scope and impeccable craft of these films, but I say minuscule because I had essentially reduced the movies to simple pop entertainment. After reading the Wachowskis’ words on paper, it became one of the greatest things I had ever read and I rewatched all three movie with a higher appreciation for what it was they set out to accomplish. The Matrix trilogy is a work of complex literature that deserves to have papers written on it and be discussed in institutions of higher learning. While the films stand on their own and create a unique set of philosophical questions for its universe, the themes are very relevant, deriving inspiration from modern philosophy like Simulacra and Simulation by Jean Baudrillard to older works such as Plato’s Republic. But it’s the heart of movies, the theme of fate vs. free will, and how the Wachowski’s discuss it that elevates the world of The Matrix to something grander. From the allegories to the religious, philosophical, and mythological references, the Matrix trilogy is more than just a set of sci-fi action films, it’s a source of intellectual stimulation that builds and builds on its ideas until the spacetime continuum threatens to collapse in on itself. (continue reading…)

I was reading A Scanner Darkly, the first book Philip K. Dick claimed to have soberly written, and I thought how scary it would be to exist as a person in his universe. Then again, if I was part of his universe, I’d probably be a confused drug addict. Dick is my favorite science fiction writer because the characters are so interesting. Most often, in sci-fi literature, the characters are fully drawn, but seem only to exist as a building tool for the plot. There is hardly a plot in a Philip K. Dick short story or novel. Usually the narrator is completely unreliable, maintaining a sort of vicissitude that constantly puts the credibility of everything we’ve just read into question. I don’t think he was a writer that made outlines or saw the entire story clear in his head before writing it. It was as if he knew the characters, but he himself was curious to see what would happen to them. Every book he wrote before 1970 was under the influence of amphetamines, perhaps to pull the story from a faculty he had no direct access to: his subconscious. Considering that, I started noticing the similarities between Dick’s ideas and the writings of Carl Jung. The both of them seemed to be obsessed with the fragile construction of personal identity. (continue reading…)

Coraline, which is directed by Henry Selick, is based upon a wonderfully dark book by Neil Gaiman, the man behind The Sandman graphic novels as well as many other fantasy works. Words like masterpiece or classic should usually be kept in their holsters and drawn only when they are absolutely imperative to a work of art’s description, when it is difficult to describe it with conventional thought processes. Coraline is an unusual film. I can tell you it’s in the same vain as Nightmare Before Christmas or Corpse Bride, both of which are connected to Henry Selick, but Coraline is apart from those works because it will touch viewers more deeply. Like the dreamscapes of Nightmare Before Christmas and Corpse Bride, this film is cultivated within a dark and gloomy tapestry, however it is about real people and that makes its relevance to us very powerful. Its primary audience is children, which will undoubtedly cause some to question Selick’s technique, but adults will be touched by it as well because a lot of the feelings implicitly discussed in Coraline will engender pangs from the universal wounds left by childhood. (continue reading…)

The film adaptation of what can be considered Alan Moore’s magnum opus, Watchmen, is just around the corner. Moore’s rich oeuvre has not just cemented his authority in the realm of comic books, but the themes and commentaries of his work have also established him a visionary with a very unique perspective about humanity. Watchmen will be the fourth adaptation of one of his graphic novels, and while it seems to be given the expensive treatment it deserves, I’m not sure how great it’s going to be. Moore himself has made a habit of distancing himself from the films of his books, understandably so. Two of them are good in their own right, whereas the one in the middle, the godawful League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen, is nothing but a brutal assault on the imagination of Alan Moore. While From Hell and V for Vendetta were good films, I don’t understand why the filmmakers always stray so much from the source material as adhering to it may well have elevated the movies to a high degree of complexity and excellence. From Hell was so different that I felt it should have been marketed as a separate film about Jack the Ripper. V for Vendetta followed the basic narrative of Moore’s book, but made a completely different discussion than he did. Moore was discussing anarchy and fascism. The movie talks more about liberalism and neo-conservatism. It was still amazing and very relevant to our modern climate, but having read the graphic novel, I was a little disappointed in the drastic transformation of content. Nonetheless, most of the action remained accurate. I have a bad feeling the action might be the only aspect the filmmakers of Watchmen have set their focus on. At least with Vendetta, while departing from the source’s ideas, the screenwriters brought their own intriguing ideas to the table. The writers were the Wachowski Brothers so it’s no surprise. But the makers of Watchmen are the same bunch behind 300. I might be one of the few who wasn’t very fond of 300. I had no problem with the visual dazzle and focused direction. It was the writing. I have not read the source material by Frank Miller so I might be out of my element in criticizing the movie. I just felt it was turbocharged in gore and less in concept. If it’s any indication about what kinds of films Zack Snyder wants to make, I don’t think he’s the right director for Watchmen. (continue reading…)

I’m not sure if it’s fair to call the great Yukio Mishima crazy. He was definitely an intensely charismatic figure who broadened his horizons to encompass as many facets of cultural literacy as his time allowed. By the end of his life, or at the time he chose to end it, Mishima had written 40 novels, 18 plays, 20 books of short stories, 20 books of essays, one libretto, and a film. That his oeuvre consisted of deep insight into the elements of what makes us human only boggles me to comprehend what had happened to him that lead to his self-imposed doom. Despite his commitment to the Bushido, I cannot understand the force driving him to his death when his fertile mind I imagine still had much to offer. I doubt it was boredom or even a lack of satisfaction. Though his sexuality has been a subject of much speculation, Mishima was still happily married with two young children. In the breathtaking film, Mishima: A Life In Four Chapters, Paul Schrader embarks on a complex examination about the statements Mishima was trying to make and attempts to answer these questions. He doesn’t answer them with answers though. It’s not that simple with Mishima. Schrader’s intricately structured film rather blurs the line between Mishima’s life and Mishima’s art. He slowly shows us that maybe Mishima saw no distinction between the two and that his existence was just another tool for him, like pen and paper, to express his art. Or more so, Mishima saw his life as his magnum opus and the graphic violence of seppuku was the most effective conclusion he arrived at for his greatest artistic accomplishment. (continue reading…)

The film adaption of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story is intoxicating. However, I think it’s a misnomer to call it an adaptation. Aside from the premise and the titular character’s name, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button stands alone. The original story was more of a farce. Eric Roth’s richly conceived screenplay is closer to a lyrical work of melancholy. After watching the movie, I’m still unsure which narrative most logically explores the notion of a man aging backwards. Both stories are flawed, but I have to concede that Fitzgerald adopts a more pragmatic approach, whereas Roth and director David Fincher are more emotional. Another consideration is that Fitzgerald probably didn’t invest as much time into Button as both Roth and Fincher. This is a highly imperfect tale and the original story stood by it just long enough to get on without drawing attention to many of its absurd components. The filmmakers are bolder, completely downplaying the aging backwards part, reducing it to the rawness of what it is as a character trait. They are aided by a wonderful performance from Brad Pitt, who eloquently inhabits the Ages of Man with a kind of innocent abandon. In the story, F. Scott Fitzgerald was basically exploring a standard human being growing younger and realistically depicts the degradation of the character’s mentality and physicality as it would happen to anyone. Benjamin Button in the movie is uniquely magical. He deeply ponders the effects of his dilemma on himself and on others with profound insight and great humility. The short story ran with the gimmick, but the movie transcends it. (continue reading…)

It might be a story about cognitive animals on a farm, but George Orwell’s Animal Farm is no cutesy farm animal story. Indeed, their observations at first may appear charming and the likes of a children’s book, but don’t be fooled as you peruse through the pages and find all that transpires to be a little scary. In this universe, where farm animals are part of a larger syndicate, the pigs are devious. Except for Old Major of course, whose vision of a socialist utopia inspires the animals to rebel against the humans. He is a charismatic figure with grand ideals and noble intentions, but when he dies, his dreams are left in the hands of scoundrels to be manipulated many times over. What starts off as a nice little tale turns into an intense commentary about corruption and class stratification. And as with all great literature, its relevance in the real world is dauntingly obvious. (continue reading…)

What is happiness? What is truth? In Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, happiness seems to be the gratification of an individual’s desires. You could say the gratification of an individual’s carnal desires. Food, sex, drugs, nice clothes, consumer items. Huxley deals with truth in a more complicated manner. When I say truth, I mean human truth. I mean love, friendship, and personal connections. Totalitarianism is a subject that has been heavily explored in literature and film, but Brave New World takes a different perspective than most works. In this universe, information is not concealed from society, culture is not controlled, and sexuality is not repressed. Here, it’s more as if individuals volunteer their rights in exchange for pleasure. They are reduced to passivity and egoism, preoccupied with such trivial lives that they neglect to recognize human truth. There is one character, named John, who has grown up outside the society of Brave New World. Likewise, he finds it difficult to fit in when he returns. His worldview is based on his knowledge of Shakespeare plays. He sees the humanity in them so he knows human truth, exemplified by his love for the character Lenina. However, she is unable to reciprocate his affections having been raised in this place. This epitomizes the conflict at hand, between Lenina’s desire for sex and John’s desire for love, between happiness and truth. (continue reading…)