Prince Caspian
a review by Jeffrey Overstreet
(For many other thoughtful reviews, read yesterday’s post on Prince Caspian.)
Once upon a time, a great storyteller named C.S. Lewis sat down at the fireside, and children from all over the world gathered there with him.
He went on to tell them the second grand tale of Narnia — Prince Caspian — which was full of imagination. And while it may not have been as memorable and thrilling as his previous story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, it brought back many of their favorite characters. It introduced many more, including the skeptical dwarf Trumpkin, the chivalrous mouse Reepicheep, and even figures from ancient mythology, like Bacchus.
In what seemed a simple, charming children’s tale, Lewis gave shape to great truths about the God of the universe. He demonstrated how faith can open our eyes to the designs of God in the world around us. And he celebrated the powerful ways in which mythology, through all cultures and eras, leads to the true myth at the center. It may have been an obvious allegory, but it was still enjoyable and inspiring.
Then one day, strangers who seemed to mean well appeared at the fireside. One of Professor Lewis’s closest allies, his own stepson, quickly welcomed them. And then they made their proposition: “We would like to translate your tale into a play, a pageant that will be performed for enormous audiences around the world,” they said. “We will honor you and your work by doing so.”
Professor Lewis puffed on his pipe for a moment. He had met these men before, and he had some good reasons to question their abilities as storytellers. Eventually, he smiled sadly and said, “Very well, so long as you understand the heart of my story, and respect for whom it was written.”
“Oh, they will,” Lewis’s stepson assured him and his very young listeners. “In fact, I will represent them to the audience. We can trust them, and they will honor you be bringing your ideas to life beautifully.”
“I feel my responsibility to [your] fans is just being true to the books, and letting people take from it what they will,” said one of the visitors, a “Mr. Adamson” (a Son of Adam). “I think by staying true to the book, I’m staying true to what any fan gets from the book.” (Direct quote!)
The visitors seemed to pay fierce attention to the tale that dear Professor Lewis spun, taking copious notes. Then, they stole away into the night.
“Do you suppose we trust them?” Professor Lewis asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
“It’s hard to say,” replied the children. “Are they like the good kings and queens of Narnia, fighting for what is good? Or are they more like the Telemarines, taking over someone else’s property and cutting down the forests for their own advancement?”
“We shall see,” said Professor Lewis. “Watch what they do. We’ll find out if they even understood the story that they heard.”
The visitors went on to build similar fires all over the world, and in the light of those fires, they performed their play. Just as these performers and playwrights had hoped, people came from all around, lured by the dazzling brightness of the fire. The storytellers welcomed everyone, charging them admission of course, and making a fortune from Professor Lewis’s story. The stepson assured all skeptics that great care had been taken to preserve and translate Lewis’s ideas to the screen. Further, he assured everyone that it was the Holy Spirit Himself whose opinion mattered the most.
And as they collected the money, they began to tell the tale, saying it was “Based on the story by C.S. Lewis.”
Audiences cheered, for the play was spectacular, indeed. The costumes were impressive, the sets quite extravagant, and the special effects were really quite dazzling. Viewers had never seen such lifelike centaurs, such breathtaking griffins, such valiant mice.
But it turned out to be a much-revised version of Professor Lewis’s story. This was no surprise, for the story was never really designed as a compelling play. What was surprising was just how unfamiliar it seemed to those few who had heard Lewis’s original tale. The whimsical story had been transformed into a story of war, full of long and vivid descriptions of spectacular battles, in which the young heroes bravely pincushioned their enemies with arrows, ran them through with swords, and even beheaded them.
To assure audiences that, yes, this was indeed a tale of Narnia from Professor Lewis, the playwrights included many familiar names, although several prominent characters — especially High King Peter, Queen Susan, Reepicheep, and Trumpkin — bore little resemblance to Lewis’s characters.
This did not seem to matter to most viewers, even to many of Lewis’s friends and fans. In fact, so stirring were these scenes of courage that Prince Caspian won many new fans. It even inspired some to go looking for the all-powerful Aslan, the benevolent Authority in Lewis’s tales. (Yes, even in shoddy stories, Aslan’s power can still capture minds and hearts.) This was a happy effect of a rather questionable “adaptation.”
Nevertheless, this play showed that the storytellers had not met Lewis’s challenge. They had either failed to understand the heart of Lewis’s story, or else they did understand it and, disapproving of Lewis’s convictions, actively sought to conceal them. For the play’s revisions, while making it more exciting, made it less meaningful.
High King Peter, played with passion by William Mosely, was not a very admirable king anymore; he was an egotistical adolescent. This revision certainly added more drama to the play. Peter spoke with venom about attacking the enemies “there, before they attack us here.” This may have been a well-intentioned attempt to critique the Iraq War, echoing the U.S. President’s words so boldly. But it had nothing to do with Professor Lewis’s story. And sure enough, Peter leads the forces of good into a quagmire that costs many noble characters their lives, and the withdrawal of troops is a messy affair. All of this was invented by the playwrights, filling time left open by the deletion of some of Lewis’s chapters.
The skeptical Trumpkin of Lewis’s story was deleted and replaced with a different Trumpkin, one who’s not skeptical but temperamental. While he was acted with great skill and depth by the brilliant actor Peter Dinklage, these unnecessary revisions eliminated one of the story’s most meaningful threads.
Susan, in a likeable performance by Anna Popplewell, was revised to become a swordswoman and archer, one so skilled in open war that she would scare Tolkien’s Eowyn from the battlefield. Quite a different character than Lewis’s Susan, who was forbidden to fight. Now, it’s one thing to dislike Professor Lewis’s limitations on his female characters. It’s quite another thing to decide that the way to make a woman respectable is to turn her into a resourceful killer.
And Reepicheep — one of Lewis’s most beloved and noble characters — was reduced to a wisecracking sidekick, more like a character from the Shrek franchise (which makes sense, since the director of this play also directed the first two Shrek movies).
In perhaps their most confounding and dismaying revision, these misguided storytellers deleted the culmination of Lewis’s endeavors to celebrate the sacred threads running through ancient mythology. Characters such as Bacchus, Silenus, and the “riot” of characters united by the truth of Aslan were never given their opportunity to celebrate and affirm that power.
And speaking of Aslan, these storytellers allowed for only a few appearances of Narnia’s greatest character. They’ve reduced one of his most important appearances to a dream sequence, allowing him to be seen in the real world only at the very end when he could provide a convenient rescue.
While this new Prince Caspian was a better crowdpleaser than some of the Harry Potter plays, and the fine work by these actors made it arguably more compelling than the Star Wars prequels, it contained very little that could be praised as original. Instead of inventing threads that reinforce and strengthen Lewis’s story, they ripped sections out of the story and patched them with elements that could easily be converted into video games. It doesn’t help that some sequences in this second Narnia tale seem to be designed to mimic scenes from other great “second stories,” especially a sequence resembling the march of the Ents at the conclusion to The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers.
These seemingly endless battle scenes made Prince Caspian more a story about battlefield heroics than an exploration of the “deeper magic” of Narnia. This cacophony of conflict reminded audiences of such pageants as Gladiator and Braveheart and Troy and The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers more than the charming tales of Narnia. The “PG” rating seemed most inappropriate for such a violent spectacle; a PG-13 would have been more accurate. Thus, the filmmakers transgressed the second important concern, making the story inappropriate for its original audience… young children. That’s how a G-rated fairy tale became what should have been rated a PG-13 production. (What next? Saving Private Pooh Bear? The War in the Willows?)
The storytellers, when questioned, talked about how stories told to such large audiences need to be abridged. But Lewis’s story was short to begin with. While the play did succeed in entertaining and pleasing audiences, and while it did not entirely obscure the meaning of Lewis’s story, it should never have been presented under the same title as Lewis’s story. Lewis’s wit, his heart for young adventurers, and the most unique insights of his story lay among the casualties strewn across the battlefields of this violent play.
In spite of all of this, the play went on and on. Many critics rightfully praised it for what it did well, and some even rejoiced at how meaningful it was compared to the standard big-budget production. The filmmakers’ plans to make big money were successful; their prioritization of spectacle over storytelling paid off.
But most reviewers failed to mention how insubstantial, shallow, and derivative the production was in view of Lewis’s original story. It’s likely that many failed to mention this because they could not be bothered to read a fairy tale written for children in the first place. Or maybe they had grown too old, and merely forgotten the story they had enjoyed when they were younger.
The playwrights and the stepson, meanwhile… were they really as sinister as Telemarines? Perhaps. It could be that they sit around a table and discuss how to subvert or downplay “Christian imagery.” But it is also likely that they, for all of their best intentions, were merely lacking in the vision necessary to properly appreciate those original tales. Maybe they really thought they’d preserved the magic. If so, alas… the magic slipped through their fingers.
Whatever the case, their play brought them great wealth and success — by worldly standards. And thus it convinced them and their financiers to go ahead and steal the next story in Lewis’s series, most likely to exploit and transform it by similar means. (And that’s a crying shame, boys and girls, because The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is one of the most imaginative and meaningful of Lewis’s series. All who love dear Puddleglum, start saying your prayers now; there’s a lot of time yet before they make The Silver Chair.)
While children all around the world were drawn to the flashier fires, Lewis remained in the woods, beside his humble campfire, happy to share simple, delightful fairy tales with those few children lucky enough to find him there. These wonderful audiences did not need clamorous wars to hold their attention. It was enough for them to have inspiring characters and mysteries deep as the sea.
And so it is today. Most children will miss the quieter, subtler fire, running instead to the bright and roaring fires of a lesser tale with the same title. There, Aslan may show up and inspire them in spite of everything. But some, we can hope, will find their way to Professor Lewis out there in the woods, find Aslan in all of his glory, and bask in a light more penetrating and beautiful.
•
IMDB says that Michael Apted is going to direct Dawn Treader. If that’s true, I think he would do a more patient adaptation than Adamson.
No matter what, though, Alan Rickman should play Puddleglum.
Great review, Jeffrey. I think I am going to see this soon without re-reading the book (which I haven’t read in probably 10 years), so I can enjoy it as popcorn entertainment and then later savor the story that Lewis wrote.
I for one think we’re making too much of all this. After all, what would one expect from a Hollywood adaptation of Lewis? I never once thought they would let all the Christian themes stay intact. It’s just not what they do, because it’s not a Christian industry. And it’s not as if Lewis’ writings are scripture (though I think some people can elevate them to that level once in a while). I think we should just let the book be the book and the movie be the movie and hope that the latter leads people to the former. And I think it will.
Personally, I enjoyed the movie for what it was. I enjoyed it quite a lot, really. It was a well-made fantasy epic. I would have liked to see Bacchus show up, and I would have liked to see the early scenes between Caspian and his teacher, but I made do with what I got. When I let myself get caught up in the visual beauty and the scope of it all, I had a great time. I was even moved several times, when the filmmakers let Lewis’ themes shine through. Overall, I know the books are always there if I want them…these movies don’t erase one word that Lewis wrote, nor do they successfully undermine him as an author. The written word will outlast the moving image every single time.
All that said, I think the series is in good hands with Michael Apted. He did quite a good job handling the Christian themes in Amazing Grace, so we’ll see if it’s the director or the studio that’s responsible for subduing the spirituality of the first two Chronicles.
P.S. I really loved the Regina Spektor song at the end. What did you think?
I’m sorry, but Puddleglum is in The Silver Chair. Are they combining Dawn Treader with Silver Chair?
One heavy caveat to your storytelling, Jeffrey… The filmmakers haven’t stolen a thing. Film rights to a book don’t have to be sold; but when they are, and when creative control is not maintained in the way that Rowling has, all bets are off.
I think your portrayal of Saint Jack and the kiddies by the fireside is just what it appears: a fairy tale in its own right. And you’ve totally miscast the villains. There’s this middleman between Saint Jack and the “storytellers.” And it’s an underused figure in fairy tales… the stepson.
These are the films that Lewis’s estate fully endorses.
Just out of curiosity: would (or has) any adaptation of The Chronicles of Narnia please you? I’ve read and watched and listened my way through a ton of them (and the tales have indeed been heavily and frequently adapted), and this Prince Caspian is the best job done of any that I’ve run across (that aren’t pretty much straight readers’ theatre).
Please tell me that no price will be high enough for Auralia’s Colors and its sequels. Or, at the very least, tell me that you won’t sell the rights without final cut authority (in which case the price probably wouldn’t make it worth the bother).
Greg,
I’ve clarified my Puddleglum comment. I meant to imply that we should start praying now for a change to come that will bring better things in future sequels. (But now that you mention it, I do remember there being some rumors that they were going to combine the two stories in the next film. I wonder if that’s true.)
And I’ll revise accordingly to implicate “the stepson,” but… well… I was trying to avoid singling anybody out.
There isn’t *one* guilty person here. There are quite a few. And no, revisions are not their crime. Elaborate re-writes of great books hit the big screen all the time, and some of them are very good. I’m a huge fan of “Children of Men,” which bears little resemblance to the novel.
The difference between “Children of Men” and “Prince Caspian” are as follows:
- The “Children of Men” director admitted right up front that the movie was quite a different story, with different themes and a different purpose, than the book. He even freely admitted that he’d never read it. He did not try to cover up for the fact that he’d made something totally new. By contrast, the Narnia filmmakers keep insisting that they were making movies for the love of the books. But the movies they make do not convince me of much love for the books. Instead, they seem like revisons carefully calculated by committees to please teens who like battle scenes, and designed for easy adaptations into video games.
- The spokesperson (the aforementioned stepson) seems oblivious to the changes, and complains when we point them out, then insists that he’s the toughest critic he knows. He doesn’t see concerned about what fans of the series revere about the books. And he doesn’t seem to understand what the stories mean.
- The books were written for children, and the movies, with their stress on chaotic battle scenes, take the movies away from young audiences. (Or, at least, good parents should take note that the films aren’t really appropriate for young children. And there aren’t many good parents out there who will bother to think that through.)
When I interviewed a top dog at Walden the week of the release of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe came out, he swore that nothing at all had been altered with Aslan, and that viewers would be thrilled to see Aslan step right off the page onto the screen. And that was not the case at all. The trend continues.
If they had just told us: “We’re taking the things that will make for exciting movies, and then rewriting the characters as we see fit,” well, that would have prevented this kind of disappointment.
Jeffrey
Jeff,
The best (and most efficient) response I can muster is an oft-repeated line from the most-reviled of last summer’s threequels, At World’s End: “It’s just good business.”
And, in the spirit of that film’s bloat, I’ll also offer the following:
When books like LOTR and the Chronicles are adapted for film, production costs are going to come with a certain price tag; and those costs are not going to be recouped by designing the films for a target demographic that’s only going to generate $50 or $60 million in boxoffice. Of course these film are not primarily for children. They couldn’t be, not with any measure of acceptable financial risk. (Disney is the real-world equivalent of PotC’s East India Trading Company, after all.)
But gosh: were viewers actually not thrilled with Aslan in LWW? I think you’re confusing critics with actual audiences. Without fanbase acceptance, LWW would have tanked. Uh, it didn’t. (And remember, I’m no fan of that movie, either. Even without considering the sanctity of the material, it’s a B-grade film at very best.)
I just don’t accept the notion that Gresham, Adamson, and Johnson are being dishonest about their love for the books — or that, befuddling as their assertions might seem to those who disagree, the disagreement must be couched in terms of “crimes” and “guilt.”
“Respect for the source material” has an odd way of working itself out when hundreds of millions of dollars get thrown into the mix. Perhaps you ought to try it some time before throwing around words and phrases like “crime,” “guilt,” “sinister,” “subvert or downplay,” or “lacking in the vision necessary to properly appreciate.” This is real ivory –or purple? — tower stuff, Jeffrey. It sounds like you’re getting personally offended on Lewis’s behalf. (AWE reminds us that the other half of “It’s just good business” is “Nothing personal.”)
You’re also being incredibly arrogant, presumptive, and superior when you assert that those giving Prince Caspian positive reviews “could not be bothered to read a fairy tale writen [sic] for children in the first place. Or maybe they had grown too old, and merely forgotten the story they had enjoyed when they were younger.”
What happened to the subjective nature of art and its appreciation? Is there only room for one legitimate interpretation? How about a simple, “Wow. I couldn’t disagree more”? Why must motive, knowledge, and expertise be assailed? Why must opposing views be discredited with ad hominem attacks on personal character?
How about pointing out that Lewis himself was catering to market pressures by cranking out books that were sloppily edited — seeming first drafts complete with errors in typesetting and continuity gaffes, apparently not even proofread by the author himself? There is no mistake that the books were commercial works to start with, not fiinely-crafted and lovingly-prepared private tales shared around a campfire, free of charge in the spirit of Pure Art. Lewis was not above appreciating the merits of good business.
Since you didn’t address my questions about other adaptations, I’ll throw in my own heretical two cents.
Adaptations of the Chronicles have always been second-rate because the books themselves are second-rate works of literature that nonetheless capture some elements of Faerie in a meaningful and powerful fashion.
But second-rate works of art don’t attract A-list talent when it comes to adaptations… unless the paycheck can’t be refused. When it comes to Narnia on the big screen, it’s only going to get so good… and in the “just good business” department, the estate probably knows that time is limited and the iron must be struck while it is hot.
If the market for fantasy films cooled while the producers searched around for filmmakers who could make the kind of adaptations that might suit you, the films might never have gotten made… or they’d get made later, after copyright protections had expired. And to steal — wait, adapt — a line from Sean Connery in The Untouchables, how do you think that Narnia would feel then: better, or worse?
Personally, I think PC is a big step forward from LWW and bodes well for the future… even if the flickering light everyone is really gathered around these days is the boob tube. Campfires were never very well suited to commercialization.
Your enjoyable retelling of the fall of the house of Narnia is missing one key role: The Judas character. Storyteller Lewis was betrayed from within his own family.
Greg,
Most of what pains me about Prince Caspian: The Movie could be fixed with a matter of some revised dialogue.
The changes that prompted this post were not so much a matter of production as a matter of meaning. I don’t believe that changing a line where Aslan tells Lucy that she can’t know the future to a line where he admits that *neither* of them can know the future would have any discernible effect on the film’s box office. That was a deliberate revision that strongly indicates that the filmmakers are trying to
I *understand* what drives them to fill it with action. But “good business” does not in any way change the fact that it harmful to the vision and distorts the meaning. If someone understands and loves the meaning, they’re not going to compromise that for bigger box office.
I *agree* that the Narnia books are not great literature. I didn’t even like them much when I was a kid.
But the stories do capture particular meanings, particular convictions that were the stories’ reason for being.
When those convictions are erased or downplayed unnecessarily, that means we’re watching something more complicated than business decisions. We’re watching someone put lies in Lewis’s mouth, even as they announce to the public that they’re doing him a great honor.
Have any Narnia adaptations pleased me? I don’t know. I don’t remember the cartoon much at all. I never watched the BBC adaptation (although I’ve heard enough from those who have to get the impression that it’s more faithful to the books).
You say “This Prince Caspian is the best job done of any that I’ve run across (that aren’t pretty much straight readers’ theatre).” What do you mean by “best”? Most entertaining? Or the best representation of the meaning of Lewis’s story? Heck, why not let Philip Pullman write an adaptation? That guy can write one heck of an entertaining story!
I’m exaggerating, of course, but the point is: If you pretend that you’re telling Lewis’s story, but you rewrite the story, turn characters into their opposites (or close), and change the meaning, then you’re lying. That’s good business? Perhaps. But I’m not going to applaud *that* kind of business.
You wrote:
Please tell me that no price will be high enough for Auralia’s Colors and its sequels. Or, at the very least, tell me that you won’t sell the rights without final cut authority (in which case the price probably wouldn’t make it worth the bother).
I would not let any screenwriter change the meaning of the story or tun my characters into their opposites. No paycheck is worth that. I would not let them insert big gratuitous battle scenes, no matter whether or not that’s good business. And if they invested a great deal of money in a production that was faithful to the story, I’d rather see it have artistic integrity and bomb at the box office than be a big financial success that misrepresented while misrepresenting my ideas.
Some of my favorite movies were box office failures precisely because they made the choice to go for meaning over spectacle. Great art comes at a great cost. And decisions made at cost to the art for the sake of breaking even reveal the prioritization of money over truth and beauty.
Thank God for artists who stick to their vision for revelation, and who resist the urge to compromise. Such decisions would have spoiled the best movies I’ve seen this decade.
I hope that you don’t think I’m lauding “good business” as a model for the dissemination of works of art… and I don’t think you do, thankfully. I just don’t find that your assessment of the film takes business considerations sufficiently into account, and it asks far too much of an artform that must, by its very business properties, appropriate popular ideas and broaden their appeal to the widest possible audience.
So if Adamson’s Aslan sounds at best like an Open Theist (as opposed to an advocate of orthodox Anglicanism), well, that disturbs you far more than it does me. I’d be very surprised to find that the average moviegoer thinks that Liam Neeson speaks for C. S. Lewis. And it doesn’t surprise me that the spiritual exclusivism of the books is “watered down” for mass consumption. It’s an important point, to be sure — but it’s not one that determines whether a good film has been made or not.
And I sure don’t see that it means that the filmmakers are the equivalent of Telmarines. Man. A better comparison might be Tumnus, maybe — someone beholden to two masters.
So if you “would not let any screenwriter change the meaning of the story or tun my characters into their opposites,” how do you propose to do that if you sell the film rights — and in particular, once you’re dead? You’d have to entrust that task to someone else in the latter case, wouldn’t you? So Jack decided to put that in the hands of Gresham. Isn’t some of the fault Jack’s? Couldn’t he have stipulated “no adaptations until it’s in the public domain”?
I dare say that the folks who “invested a great deal of money in a production that was faithful to the story” (as they saw it) would be less than thrilled to hear that you’d “rather see it have artistic integrity and bomb at the box office than be a big financial success that misrepresented” the ideas of your book.
Again, you’d have to contractually stipulate that you’d retain that level of control, and you’d have to find a way to integrate your art with High Finance.
Imagine what kind of pressure you’d be under if three or four hundred million dollars were riding on Cyndere’s Midnight… as if the pressure of a simple publishing deadline weren’t enough as it is, eh?
The reviews you quoted Friday are well and good, but I would guess that few of them were written by anyone under thirty. I’m 21, and saw the film with siblings aged 17, 12 and 9. That doesn’t give our voice higher authority, but it is relevant.
I would say we’re Lewis “purists.” In fact, my six siblings, four cousins and I filmed a word-for-word, 110-minute version of LWW over the course of two years, without any adult assistance. I’m the oldest: I was 18. “Edmund” and “Lucy” were 6. In order to complete something like that you must be a) purists or b) insane. I prefer purists. (www.projectnarnia.blogspot.com)
So we all grew up loving Lewis’ stories, but that didn’t stop us from enjoying the cartoon and BBC productions. We smiled at the good in them, and shrugged at the bad. We were kids. That’s what kids do. We hoped better versions would come along, but at the same time, we knew they wouldn’t be the be-all and end-all of Narnia, no matter what “strangers” were involved, no matter what those strangers promised and failed to deliver. Your concerns are valid, but now and then the analytic adult mind can take things too far.
The kids I saw the movie with enjoyed it very much. There were moments of disappointment, and moments of pleasant surprise. Some things made them smile, and others made them shrug. However, they walked out of the theater with a skip in their step, not talking about certain stepsons being Judases.
I think there’s room for more childlikeness in us all.
FWIW, after seeing Prince Caspian twice, I was tempted to go back and re-watch the BBC version (which I haven’t wanted to see in many years). There’s a lot to dislike about that version, but it is much more faithful. For me, the definitive *dramatic* adaptation of The Chronicles of Narnia is actually the Focus on the Family Radio Theatre version. They are belligerently faithful, but also have very high production values and some truly top-notch voice talent (you haven’t heard Aslan until you’ve heard David Suchet voice him).
All of my faith in Douglas Gresham prior to the release of this film was based on his involvment in that excellent series. However, an interview that Matt Page conducted with Gresham for Ship of Fools just a few weeks ago (link here) gave me a hint of just how misplaced that trust was. Gresham says that the radio dramas “were very good, but they stuck almost religiously to the scripting – quite deliberately to get as close to the book as possible” . . . as though sticking to the book were a very silly thing to do. That “but” should be an “and.”
Gresham went on to say (as he has elsewhere), “We’ve had to put more excitement into it because, in a film, you can’t just have four kids sit down, have a nice long talk by the camp-fire, go for a walk in the woods and then have a battle. It just wouldn’t work in a movie.” This is such a wrongheaded assessment of both the source material and of what “works” in a movie that I cannot help but wonder how much attention he has been paying to his stepfather’s books all these years, and what sorts of movies are his favorites.
I tried very hard to enjoy Prince Caspian for what it was (and mostly succeeded), but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed, and a little betrayed by Gresham specifically. That’s just how it goes, I guess.
Wow.
I’m currently reading Prince Caspian for the third time. (It’s the second time through the Narnian chronicles for my 6 and 7 year old boys…my three year old listens in occasionally)
I appreciate Christianity Today Movies and Jeffrey’s blog, which I check daily, but I’ve been discouraged by the criticism Caspian and Douglas Gresham have received. It seemed like the writer who did the interview that CT did with Gresham had an axe to grind and was unneccessarily provocative.
I have been very excited for the movie to come out as I’ve seen the quality of the clips and trailers, and then was depressed when I read Greydanus’ review at decentfilms.com (which I thought was very well written) and mentioned how many of Lewis’ themes, such as the critique of enlightenment rationalism, embodied in the Telmarines and Trumpkin, had been downplayed or were absent.
But my kid’s and I saw the film yesterday and were blown away. I thought the production was excellent, and was pleasantly surprised that many of the criticisms I’ve heard (Lucy’s faith is downplayed, or Trumpkin’s been changed, or that Reepicheep is only comic relief and does not have the nobility of the books) to be offbase.
It pains me to agree with the comment by Greg Wright that the Narnian books are not great literature, (PC may have been my least favorite). What I have found with Prince Caspian and with Jackson’s LOTR films is that they and the books complement each other in amazing ways. Their are parts I like better in the books, and parts I like better in the movies, but to me they each make the other better.
One additional note.
The very well done duel between Caspian and Miraz reminded me of this quote from Lewis:
“That shield is too heavy,” he said. “Here’s the one for you. Slip it on, thus. And understand from the outset; your shield is a weapon, not a wall. You’re fighting with it every bit as much as your sword.”
Anyone recall which book this comes from?
Oops, that should be “Peter” and Miraz
I, for one, am somewhat glad that I did not read the Chronicles as a child (in fact the only one I read was the “first” book, “The Magician Nephews”) so that I can appreciate the films separately. The current commitment is to wait until my children are old enough to read the books to them and share with the first experience.
However, it is good to have seasoned Narnia folk bring up some tension points about adaptation or the lack thereof… and for that I look forward to reading the real Narnia in years to come.
Many of the reviewers say that some “Christian elements” were left out because of the Hollywoodized way of doing things… I found more than enough to keep my Spirit engaged… but then again I think movies like Fight Club and Shawshank contain some of the strongest “redemptive” value in modern film watching.
Jeffrey, Say on. No need to budge an inch.
This is not the first time a book-to-movie adaptation ended up as a stripped-out version of the book. But what really hurt was the LOTR copycat material in the climax scene. Nobody needed another Ent rescue — Caspian could and would have made a ton of money without it. The other offense was the taming of Aslan. Orginally, the King of Narnia was a terrifying and majestic ruler. In Caspian, he looked like a lovable, stuffed animal. C.S. Lewis may not have been the greatest fiction writer, but he was one of greatest creators of meaningful fiction. The film could have had a timelessness quality if the writer/director had allowed more of the intended theology.
That’s from Till We Have Faces my favorite C.S. Lewis book! (So great.)
pleasantly surprised that many of the criticisms I’ve heard (Lucy’s faith is downplayed, or Trumpkin’s been changed, or that Reepicheep is only comic relief and does not have the nobility of the books) to be offbase
Lucy’s faith isn’t downplayed . . . the role it plays in the story is. Trumpkin has been changed . . . but he’s still a well-played, likeable character who serves the story’s purposes. Reepicheep, perhaps my favorite character in the series (certainly when I was younger), I have no real beef with (except the recurring “You’re a mouse!” which outwore its welcome). I look forward to his return in the next movie. As long as Eustace is well-cast, they will have a strong core of main characters.
Many of the reviewers say that some “Christian elements” were left out because of the Hollywoodized way of doing things… I found more than enough to keep my Spirit engaged… but then again I think movies like Fight Club and Shawshank contain some of the strongest “redemptive” value in modern film watching.
I couldn’t agree more with the latter sentiment . . . For instance, Pulp Fiction is among my favorite redemptive films. And, yes, there are spiritual themes for the finding in Caspian. However, when I (at least) talk about the gimping of the book’s Christian themes, I don’t blame some sort of secular filmmaking agenda so much as I blame the box-office minded conventions of the summer popcorn flick. The fact is that, while some of the themes are there, they are watered-down and marginalized because they don’t fill seats. Unfortunately, for a lot of us, that also weakens the storytelling (which, as several people have pointed out, was none too strong to begin with).
I just saw the film last night (with kids, no less!) and we’re just starting to re-read the book today. I would say I know the story well, but not all the underlying meaning that has been mentioned in things I’ve read recently. Jeff, you’re totally right about this NOT being “faithful” to many of the themes that Lewis put forth; however, some of them I wasn’t even aware of (i.e. the significance of Aslan dancing with Bacchus, etc).
What I do remember from the book, though, is a struggle of faith – and that, I felt, came through very well.
The main character this relates to is Peter. Yes, I was disappointed with how they portrayed Peter in LWW; he’s too much of the indecisive man that most men in film are portrayed as (it seems most times they’re either fumbling about and unsure, or over-the-top confident in a cartoonish-Bruce-Willis-Die-Hard kinda way… but that’s another complaint).
But I found it fascinating that they actually wrestled with what happened to Peter between LWW and PC. Leaving aside for the moment that Peter had a half-lifetime of experience when he went back to being a teenager, by keeping him the same from LWW to PC, you setup a crisis of faith that he has to resolve. Will he rely on himself/his Kingship, or (ultimately) Aslan? The most obvious place this happens is the scene with the white witch – after Peter’s failure at Miraz’ castle, where would his hope lie?
Note: this was the ONLY scene with blood in it. Caspian has nowhere else to turn, knows something isn’t right, but has no idea what to do. Peter is facing his failure and what to do about it; he knows better but is still tempted. Only Edmund has enough sense about him to pierce the lie (Edmund really is the only person in the series so far to “get” the gospel).
This scene with the white witch immediately brought to mind the confrontation in the book of Acts between the apostles Peter and Paul. Peter starts to slide away from the Gospel, and the Gentiles (Caspian) has no idea what to think about it. Paul (Edmund) essentially asks Peter “what is your faith in?” The blood in the scene brought to mind the hope certain first century jews had in the cutting of flesh (circumcision, for the “old” power of the Law) as well as the fact that blood had already been spilt for salvation (Jesus/Aslan). Of course, at the end of that Peter is left staring at the picture of Aslan; it’s only then that he understands their only hope is with Aslan, and they send Lucy off (I’m a bit sketchy on the movie at this point, can’t remember exactly what was said – but that’s what I took away from it).
At the end of the movie, Aslan says that Peter learned what he needed to from Narnia, so now he needs to take that into his world. What did he learn? That for him to rely on himself will bring despair, but by relying on (and relinquishing power to) Aslan there is hope and victory.
So there’s my thoughts. I’m neither a theologian nor a movie critic, so do with it what you will. Ultimately I think this is like asking a conservative theologian what they think of Eugene Peterson’s “the Message” – most will discuss what a horrible translation it is, etc. But the fact is, many people use it to draw closer to God. I don’t want to see them left there, but I wouldn’t want to take it away either.
It’s late, and I have an Indiana Jones review due, so I have to keep this short.
I apologize that I am not able to take the time to address every question and every point being posted here. No offense to anyone is intended. I appreciate all of these comments.
A few parting thoughts before I call it a night…
1) I never intended to suggest that “the Christian elements” of the story have been abandoned in the film.
The film is full of echoes of the Gospel. Hooray.
Believe it or not, I *enjoyed* the movie, so long as I could avoid thinking about what it *might* have been, and what available riches were cast aside for lesser things.
I only meant to say that Aslan’s dialogue has again been altered unnecessarily, in ways that diminish his authority. And further, that one of the story’s key themes — indeed, one of the two themes highlighted on the book’s Wikipedia page — has been sorely diminished in this film. Again, unnecessarily. And that is a shame, because those things could have been done properly in the film without affecting its box office potential whatsoever.
2) I agree with the sentiment that the film could have easily accommodated those things deleted from the original story without making the film “too long.”
If the film is too long, it is because, as in the previous film, lengthy and gratuitous battle scenes were added. And again, they seem to be included just to avoid disappointing those who come to fantasy movies desiring massive battlefield sequences. Scenes of this nature are becoming so commonplace that they are losing their power. For me, they’ve become altogether boring. I will be stunned when I see a battlefield sequence again that is both compelling *and* meaningful. I can hardly imagine such a thing anymore.
3) I do not think moviemakers have any responsibility to appeal to the largest audience.
The writers who speak most powerfully to me are poets. Poetry is the most powerful form of language, and, when it’s done right, the most beautiful. And yet poets, by nature of their art, are already failing to appeal to a large audience. How many people do you know who buy books of poetry? How many people want to be bothered to read a line of text more than once, or contemplate things like rhythm, line-breaks, and music? If poets need to be bothered with concerns about how much money their publishers will make, they’ll quickly compromise, and their poetry will be feeble.
Audiences have been conditioned to swallow junk food. They need to be taught to appreciate finer things. That means that good movies need to be made without so much concern for maximizing box office receipts. Audiences need to be re-conditioned to demand better storytelling. The reason we rarely get great poetry on the big screen is that audiences don’t know how to “read” that poetry anymore. They’ve become used to trash.
Walden Media, for all of the studio execs’ good intentions, have an embarrassing track record. Sure, they’ve seized many wonderful storybooks for adaptation. But in their hurry, and in their attempt to draw huge audiences, they’ve compromised and even ruined some of that brilliant source material. And yet, on occasion, they’ve managed remarkable movies that show what is possible with the right attention to detail.
4) And finally, to address Greg’s comments about Auralia’s Colors (and forgive me if I sound snippy, I certainly don’t mean to. But it is late, I am tired, and thus I’m in danger of conveying the wrong tone here…)
If a director and a studio aren’t interested in translating Auralia’s Colors with some subtlety and poetry, then I don’t want them coming anywhere near it. I’d rather stay poor, and protect what few glimmers of poetry I may have captured, than get rich and watch the thing turned into some kind of commercial genre flick.
And you’re right: the fact that I hold to this conviction almost guarantees that the movie will never be made. I doubt there’s a studio willing to invest in such a non-Top-Ten idea. I doubt there’s a fantasy director willing to make a fantasy film that doesn’t have any big battle scenes.
But hey… “The New World” was made. So was “The Thin Red Line.” And “Pan’s Labyrinth.” It can happen. “The Secret of Roan Innish” is a remarkable fantasy without any box-office bait in its magical 90 minutes. So many of my favorite films were box office bombs, but they’re my favorites because they went for something other than a big opening weekend. They went for transcendance. And over time, in the long run, those films will still be inspiring lucky, discerning viewers even a century from now.
Further, since one of the main themes of Auralia’s Colors is the power of transcendent art, I must stand firm and resist any attempt to dumb down the story. I don’t want to write for an audience that wants to be amused, jolted, and merely entertained.
I can’t say if I’m succeeding, but my goal is to draw a few patient readers away from what is familiar into something that just might quiet them enough for a new kind experience. That’s my hope anyway. I’d rather sell a few copies and inspire one reader than sell a thousand and merely entertain.
Good night.
P.S. The use of the shields in the duel between Peter and Miraz was, indeed, very cool. One of the best duels I’ve seen since that classic clash at the end of Ladyhawke.
I had the same feeling about the Lord of the Rings adaptation and Harry Potter ones. It’s very hard to adapt a book such that fans won’t think the adaptation shallow and off-putting. Especially fans like myself who have read every grace note in the books many times, and so for whom every divergence grates like fingers on a chalkboard.
Very creative review, Jeffrey, and a very graciously moderated discussion. I agree that “subvert” and “sinister” are perhaps a little too strong words to employ, but, to be fair, you are only positing these as possibilities. Nonetheless, it is quite disappointing the changes to which Douglas Gresham is willing to sign off on, and, therefore, I think we can question just how good a grasp he has on his step-father’s work.
A couple little notes. To be fair, I do not have the book here as I write, but I do believe that Peter does lop off the head of one of the two Telmarine Lords after they kill Miraz (which was fairly nicely done in the moview with the arrow, though Lewis’ duel scene is far more intimately staged). Still, the violence was rather too much for a PG movie, particularly all the throat slicings.
Also, there is perhaps some merit for women fighting in Narnia, but the fighter of the two Queens is Queen Lucy in The Horse and His Boy and not Queen Susan. Well, at least Lucy is with the archers in Archenland and is said to frequently go to battle.
The changing of Aslan’s lines is rather distressing, as is the the severe editing of his role. There is very little serious playfulness and holy fear about this Aslan. I very much missed him flinging Trumpkin into the air, catching him, and then saying (I believe) “Shall we be friends?” But, as you noted, the entire Trumpkin character has been changed from skeptic to a somewhat disappointed and apathetic believer.
I must say I did enjoy the movie, but perhaps because of severely lowered expectations and by pouring meaning and my own imagination into little things the filmakers gave us (like tossing bones to dogs), like the apples in the woods around Cair Paravel and the bulgy bear sucking his paws. And I felt rather moved at Susan leaving Narnia, for the very last time. And, for the record, Peter and Susan have to leave Narnia because they have received what Narnia, and what Lewis intended the books to accomplish for children (old and young), intended them to receive, an introduction to Christ, a theme which only gets stonger as the stories go along.
Perhaps my reaction after the movie in envisioning how movie makers might address future films was more telling of my heart, though, I think. I seriously doubt whether they can make the story of Eustace and his de-dragoning without stripping it of its meaning. And will Lucy be chided for eavesdropping? And what really is the big deal about sailing to Aslan’s country anyway? Can the Reepicheep envisioned in this movie be made to have such a sweet dream?
And I really want the filmmakers to cease and desist after the Silver Chair, which I believe they may anyway (the BBC folk did, though I don’t know the real reason). I think the The Horse and His Boy could be a very cinematic story, but think it would be viewed (perhaps somewhat justifiably so, I am at pains to say) as a bit racist, particularly in a post-911 world. And The Magician’s Nephew and The Last Battle, well, if you strip the religious imagery out of these there is not much left. And if the film makers are unable to depict the holy and good and whimsical aspects of Narnia now (and this may simply be a function of all of us having our sense of story predicated and tinged by Fall), I do not want to see them attempt depicting a New Narnia. There are so many ways the last two books could be messed up, I would prefer not to see them even try.
For what it is worth, I liked both movies better than the books. I feel like the theology is a little heavy handed in the Narnia series. Tolkien is more crafty at weaving it into the threads of his fantasy. You see it better at a distance.
As far as theology goes, I did not find anything problematic. Changing the line where Aslan tells Lucy that she can’t know the future to a line where he admits that *neither* of them can know the future, reminds me of Christ declaring that He in fact did NOT know the day or hour, but willfully surrendered that knowledge to the Father. For any God to be truly sovereign, He would have to have the power of forgetfulness. He is so powerful that He can choose what not to know. Like washing away our guilt. He remembers our sins no more.
We partake of the Eucharist in fact in remembrance of that severe mercy.
And for what it is worth, the scene of the necromancy of the White Witch in the new movie was much more powerful than the book. Edmund shines like the sun.
Two points:
First, I don’t believe Aslan is talking to Lucy about the ability to know the future, per se. What he is talking about is the ability to know how things would have turned out differently, if different choices had been made. In my vague and hazy memory of philosophy class, I believe this is called “middle knowledge” — and there is an example of it in the Bible, when Saul’s army approaches a city and David asks God whether the people in that city will turn him over to Saul if he stays. (God says yes they will, so David leaves the city. Some philosophers might argue that this means God’s prediction did not come true, therefore God has — oops! — made a false statement; others argue that God could see both potential timelines, the one in which David stays and the one in which David leaves, and his prediction was an accurate description of the timeline that never occured. I’m not sure what Open Theists would do with that; I guess they might say God was just guessing.)
Second, the tendency of the Narnia films to emphasize battles, battles, battles — and the defense that they need to do this for business reasons — is beginning to remind me of one of my long-standing complaints about the Star Trek movies. On the various TV shows, you have the freedom to experiment from week to week, and each episode can be a different genre: comedy, medical emergency, mystery, ghost story, and even, yes, battle epic (or at least as epic as a TV budget allows). But movies happen only once every two or three years, at best, so each movie needs to be an “event” — and each movie needs to reach outside the fanbase and draw in lots of extra customers in order to make its money back. So, because Star Wars has conditioned the average moviegoer to assume that every space movie must be a space battle movie, virtually all of the Star Trek movies have been “action movies” of one sort or another. Ironically, though, the top-grossing film in the entire franchise — even before inflation is taken into account — is Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, the time-travel comedy that Leonard Nimoy decided to make because he figured there had been too much death and destruction in the previous two movies and he wanted to do something lighter. It’s too bad no one since has followed his example in that franchise — but hopefully the makers of the next Narnia movie will try to give us something more than just another round of swordplay.
I appreciate and agree with your thoughts about PC. I am ashamed to say my Grandmother purchased the Chronicles for me as a child but I never read them (I owe her an apology that I will some day give to her). But through a series of events I have become a true friend of Narnia; it has even become part of the relationship and bond I have with my children. I have multiple copies of the Focus on the Family Radio Theatre “Chronicles of Narnia” and my children (who are 7 and
have listened to all seven Chronicles more than most children their age I shouldn’t wonder. I honestly cannot tell you how many times we’ve listened to each story but I can tell you that one day in the car when I thought they were about to bicker over something that happened at school, the one turned to the other and said “Aslan only tells you your own story.” I was absolutely stunned, not only were they listening to the story, they got the message.
Needless to say, as a friend of Narnia, it bothered me that when the LWW came to the big screen Aslan had been “dumbed down” and the Witch had been given an extra measure of resilience and fortitude. I tried hard not to pick but nonetheless struggled with things such as Peter’s pensiveness and lack of courage. There were other changes that simply did not make sense, for example why did they need to break the window? What purpose did it serve? On the other side there was a thing or two that was really clever, such as the dancing fawns in Tumnus’ fire, and the fire being blown out, presumably by Aslan.
So here we are again, next movie, same issue. I can buy into Gresham’s comment that you couldn’t re-introduce the four children and then have them off camera for half the movie while Trumpkin tells them a story. But what about the other changes, I truly just do not understand why there were necessary. I struggle to understand how Gresham could accept them anymore than he accepted them in LWW. I am willing to allow for the possibility that things happen behind closed doors and he is noble enough not to talk about it. But that doesn’t seem to be the case based on everything I have heard him say. So again I simply do not understand how he could acquiesce to some of them.
At any rate, I have been debating whether or not I take my children to see PC. I had after all wanted the movie to do well in the hope that all seven Chronicles would be made into movies. I don’t think that I am going to take them…and if each movie is going to get further and further away from the book, then I think it would be better that they are not made into movies.
How much irony is there about a story where “people” don’t believe that gets turned into a movie made by people who don’t believe…at least enough to stick to the source material.
I also thought it was a good movie, but did not do the books justice. Not a close relationship. The most interesting character in the movie was Miraz, whichh is a problem!
For me, the high point was when the children were transported from the railway station to Narnia. I cried.
The Caspian character was likable. But he’s going to have a hard time finding a wife, after that ending.
I haven’t had time to read through all these comments, but for me, the primary reason PC was a disappointment was what derivative, unimaginative, sequel-like crap it was. There’s not a speck of originality to be found in the whole thing; even the battle scenes, which are supposedly its strength, have been done in some way or another. The sets look like Disney studio backlots, the CGI is competent but anything that makes Aslan look like a cuddly kitty should not be praised, and it’s just really not that great of a movie. It’s better than most post LOTR-fare, but that’s not saying much, considering its competition is “Eragon” and “In the Name of the King.” If this weren’t a Narnia tale, I’d be willing to bet money it probably would have tanked at the box-office (and as it is it made far far less than most analysts predicted).
And for my money, I actually really really loved LWW. Even though Lewis’s themes weren’t completely intact, it was still a very very well done movie, with great acting across the board, amazing production design, CGI that did justice to Aslan’s majesty, and it kept the core theme of sacrifice and betrayal at its center. And let’s not forget Tilda Swinton, who was positively fiery in her icy role. And though everyone seems to get all over LWW’s back about always being about battles…the only real battle scene was at the end, and I think it was well within Adamson’s right to have a battle scene. I mean, Jackson had that half-hour Helm’s Deep extravaganza that gets like what, two pages in the book?
Prince Caspian may as well not even be a Narnian movie. I had high hopes, because I’ve always liked Adamson as a director, and he’s shown he knows how to do sequels. (Shrek 2 was far superior to the first.) But here he gets carried away with the creative control he had and doesn’t seem to give a flying fig about Lewis’s themes. What we end up with is a second-rate battle fantasy – and those things are a dime a dozen nowadays.
Jeffrey,
I just found your review… I’ve been working on one as well. We are kindred spirits. And I disagree with some comments that you’re making too big a deal of this. Saying that a movie cannot do justice to a book is like expecting Jason Bourne’s girlfriend to be the hero of his series… but we don’t expect that, nor did we get it. The the heroship of Aslan was usurped unblushingly in the first two Narnia movies by the children and a rewriting of what ‘magic’ means (I call those movies about “Blarnia” since they really are the evil alternative universe to the real Narnia).
I also caught wind of behind the scenes info…. It was Disney who pushed a lot of the revisions. They leaned more into Walden Media with the second movie than with the first.
Dawn Treader is my favorite book and I’m dreading the film version! Even the final scene with Lucy, if faithful to the book, will not coincide with the first two movies’ depiction of Aslan. It’s a sad tale, all this deconstruction. And I’m unimpressed with reviewers or commenters how haven’t read Narnia in a long while nor treasure it’s meaning.
Aslan is no more than a great animal, nothing more, in Blarnia. We got that from LWW and it was reinforced in PC.
Finally, our hollow culture got a chance to see into the real meaning of the Christian story… and both the story and the culture lost.
Now, who will start the coalition to pressure Disney/Walden to get the next one right? Jackson had huge Tolkien forums advising him in making LOTR. Why can’t Narnia have the same?
As for Greshem, does even get his step-dad?
~dale
http://www.soulation.org
http://www.dalefincher.com
I watched the first half hour of PC then shook my head, walked out and watched Iron Man instead. That, at least, was fun.
The spirit of Puddleglum seemed to have taken over the Pensevies and Trumpkin, especially. All the life seemed to taken out of them, and replaced with “woe is me.” And the snappy interchanges between Nikabrik, Trumpkin and Trufflehunter were lost as well.
Joy seemed to have been sapped from the film. In Lewis’s tale, Aslan shows up and before long a party breaks out , complete with the god of wine and a host of wild dancing girls. In this films, it’s just woe is me.
The rewritten dialogue has none of the snap and grace of Lewis’s text, either.
(One thing another commenter noted is that the Pensevie boys are quite proficient in lopping off heads in Lewis’s tales–Edmund gets one at least in the Horse and his Boy.)
Dawn Treader is my favorite book and I’m dreading the film version! Even the final scene with Lucy, if faithful to the book, will not coincide with the first two movies’ depiction of Aslan.
It’s a safe bet the final scene won’t be faithful to the book, then.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the film mocked Eustace Scrubbs’ parents for being “vegetarians, non-smokers and teetotalers and [wearing] a special kind of underclothes”? But no, that probably describes too many people in Hollywood. And while corporate Hollywood is happy to churn out films that mock corporations, their self-loathing only goes so far.