'Les Miserables' - The Garden of the Lord and the Kingdom of God

I went to see Les Miserables this week with high hopes. It’s critically acclaimed, award-winning, with high hopes at this year’s Oscars and also very popular with audiences. Also, I’m not averse to the occasional musical.

I left the cinema with mixed feelings. I found the earlier parts of the film, focusing on Valjean, Javert and Fantaine (Anne Hathaway was once again the best thing in an otherwise patchy movie) gripping and moving. But once the film jumped forward to the revolution, shifting its focus to Marius and his generation, I felt less and less engaged in the story. I never felt particularly connected to any of the younger characters, who just seemed to get in the way of the more interesting Valjean-Javert plot. But my overriding emotion on leaving the cinema after watching Les Miserables was anger.

The final scene bothered me greatly. Let me explain (spoiler warning): at the end of the film, Valjean dies in a convent. As he dies he sees a vision of Fantaine, who leads him to meet the bishop who saved him from the police at the beginning of the story. The scene then shifts to the centre of Paris, where a barricade has been erected. Standing on the barricade, waving flags and belting out the final song, are all the characters whom we saw killed at the barricades earlier in the film. Valjean and Fantaine are seen singing with them. Below them, a crowd of Parisians start to climb the barricade. As the song reaches its end the camera pans up to show that all the people are now behind the barricade.

So what? Here are the lyrics of the song the dead are singing on the barricades. The tune is a reprise of the call to arms the revolutionaries sing earlier in the film but now it has different words:

Do you hear the people sing?

Lost in the valley of the night
It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light
For the wretched of the earth
There is a flame that never dies
Even the darkest nights will end and the sun will rise


They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord
They will walk behind the ploughshare
They will put away the sword
The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward!


Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes! 

This is how I read the final scene. Valjean dies. Fantaine, playing the role of guardian angel or the Virgin Mary (it is a very Catholic story), leads him to Christ, in the form of the bishop (the one who saved him). Valjean and Fantaine then take their place in heaven (the space beyond the barricades) with the blessed martyrs (the fallen revolutionaries). The promise of the final song is that, although the earthly revolution failed, everybody will get their just reward in heaven. In the end, the poor of Paris will climb the barricade (i.e. die) and be happy in the afterlife.

You might disagree with this interpretation. I have heard it said that what you bring to a film determines what you get out of it. That’s fine. But I think you would struggle to argue that the final scene represents anything other than the afterlife and, in a film shot through with Christian beliefs, it galls me that the final message was ‘pie in the sky when you die’: don’t worry, everything will be okay in heaven. So what if the students’ revolution was a tragic and pointless waste of life? ‘They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord’. So what if the poor of France, so graphically depicted, are no better off for anything that has happened in this story? One day they will die, ‘the chain will be broken and all men will have their reward’.

This is the only version of Les Miserables I have seen: I haven’t seen the stage play or read the book, so I don’t know if this sentiment comes from Hugo, or from the stage play, or if it was a deliberate innovation by the director. But wherever it comes from, it makes me angry. It makes me angry because I am a Christian. It makes me angry because I believe that what Jesus said is true: ‘The kingdom of God is at hand’. It makes me angry because I believe in the New Testament vision of the heavenly city descending to Earth and God dwelling with us here, not in some vague hope of a disembodied afterlife in an alternate dimension. I believe in salvation here and now, from individual sin, yes but also from the consequences of societal sin: poverty, injustice, racism, corruption, war and exploitation.

The film actually has a really good example of this kind of salvation in the story of Jean Valjean. Valjean is saved by the bishop’s selfless love. He in turn goes on to save Fantaine and Cosette from poverty, to save Marius from the violence of the revolution, extending the same love he received from the bishop to those around him. He even extends it to his mortal enemy Javert, who refuses to accept it and ultimately takes his own life rather than continue living because of Valjean’s grace. Now that I mention it, I don’t recall seeing Javert at the barricades in the final scene. Are suicides not allowed into this revolutionaries’ heaven?

Les Miserables is a historical drama. It would unrealistic and naïve to expect it to show the revolutionaries overthrowing the monarchy and growing a utopia in the ashes (God knows their forebears in the eighteenth-century didn’t manage it). But is the best we can expect from such an overtly Christian film, whose message is summed up in the line ‘To love another person is to see the face of God’, is an ending that only seems to promise salvation after death?

Biblical prayers for the modern church

Here are some famous Biblical prayers, as they might sound if they were written today. Not intended to give offence: just to raise a smile and maybe make people think again their own prayers.

The Lord’s Prayer… as prayed by an evangelical

Our Father who is just in heaven,

we just really want your name to be hallowed, Lord.
We just want your kingdom to come.
We really just want your will be done, Lord, on earth, just as it is in heaven.
Just give us this day our daily bread, Lord.
And just forgive us our sins, as we just forgive those who sin against us.
We really just want you to save us from the time of trial and just deliver us from evil.
For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are just yours now and for ever, Lord.
Amen.

The Magnificat…. as prayed by a liberal

‘My soul magnifies the Lord/Lady/Formally Elected Superior of Indeterminate Gender,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for he/she has looked with favour on the lowliness of his/her servant/mutual partner/best friend in the whole wide world.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the mighty One has done great things for me, without contradicting the normal laws of space or time in any way that could be construed by a superstitious population as miraculous,
and holy is his/her name.
His/Her mercy is for those who fear love him/her from generation to generation.
He/she has shown strength with his/her arm, although not in an oppressive, patriarchal way;
he/she has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts, while at all times ensuring that they feel included and valued.
He/she has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;
he/she has filled the hungry with good things, after attending the appropriate Food Hygiene course, and sent the rich away empty and fed the rich too in an inclusive and welcoming manner.
He/she has helped his/her servant Israel, in remembrance of his/her mercy, according to the promise he/she made to our ancestors, to Abraham and his descendants for ever.’

The Song of Simeon… as prayed by a contemplative

….

….

….

….

The Song of Zechariah… as prayed by a charismatic

Mmm… Hmm… Oh Lord… Mmm, blessed be the Lord God of… mmm… Israel… Oh Jesus, hallelujah… for has looked… mmm… favourably on his people… Yes Lord! And redeemed them…. He has raised up… Praise Jesus!... a mighty saviour for us… in the house of… hmm… his servant… …

[Gospel writer gives up and walks away]

Batman - Life after Nolan

So the Dark Knight has finally risen, Bale has hung up the cowl, and Christopher Nolan has rounded off his take on the Batman story with a satisfying conclusion. People are already talking about Warners Bros’ inevitable reboot/remake of the cash cow franchise and, for once, I am okay with that. In fact, I’m excited.

One character, many versions

Yes, yes, I know that I ranted about Hollywood remaking the same fantasy film endlessly in my last post but I think there is scope in the Batman franchise for a new and interesting direction. Nolan’s trilogy was (mostly) excellent but it was also limited in specific ways. And that’s the strength of Batman as a character. He is like Tarzan or Sherlock Holmes, a character with essential core traits that can be interpreted and portrayed in a variety of ways, be it the campy pantomime of 60s TV, the noir-flavoured adventures of the 90s animated series, or Nolan’s brooding realism. There are elements of the character that simply didn’t fit in the recent films and I’d like to see some of them on the silver screen. With that in mind, here is my personal wish list for the next big screen Batman.

1        No origin story

I think we can all agree that the superhero origin story has been pretty thoroughly covered. We have had reluctant heroes, idealistic heroes, accidental heroes, patriotic heroes, and repentant heroes. The Amazing Spiderman might have surprised everyone by making a retelling of Peter Parker’s origin watchable, only ten years after it was first seen in the cinema, but there are few changes to be wrung out of Batman’s origin story – dead parents, obsessive quest for justice, a bulk order of fetish gear and military hardware. Nolan did a bang up job putting that on screen. Besides, is there going to be anybody in the cinema who doesn’t know who the basics? Let’s follow Tim Burton’s example and jump straight into an established Gotham City, with Batman already an active superhero.

2        Make it a comic book movie

This is a very subjective point but, personally, I’d rate Batman Begins as the best of the Nolan trilogy. The other two may be more ambitious and more sophisticated pieces of cinema, but Begins is just more fun to watch. It has a clear story with strong characters and some great action. And while it is brooding and thoughtful, it never gets lost in the navel gazing. Batman is arguable the ‘darkest’ mainstream superhero; his stories explore areas that other superhero comics won’t explore. But he’s still a guy fighting crime dressed as a bat. As SFX magazine once said, Batman is not just the Dark Knight: he’s also the Caped Crusader and the World’s Greatest Detective.

So, for the reboot, I’d like to see a Batman film that embraces more of the fantastical weirdness that you only find in comic books. Yes, Batman battles urban terrorists and mobsters but he’s also tangled with giant crocodile-man monsters and immortal ninja warriors. The benchmark should be something like: ‘Could this Batman conceivably join the Justice League?’ The only way somebody like Superman could have appeared in Nolan’s Gotham was if Bruce Wayne took some very strong LSD.

3        Robin

Robin for the 21st century -
 say 'Jimmy Jillickers' to him and he'll break your legs

I love the 60s Batman series, with its campiness and knowing humour, but it has made it difficult for people to take the Boy Wonder seriously ever since. Think about The Simpsons’ painfully accurate parody, Fallout Boy. It does not help that the last time he appeared on big screen (apart from a fan-pleasing nod in The Dark Knight Rises) it was in Schumacher’s generally reviled Batman and Robin. But I think there is potential for the character to feature in a reboot. He could add levity to the films by playing off against Batman, the dead panning straight man. Robin could also serve as the audience’s way into this new Batman franchise, as he goes on his own journey to become the Boy Wonder. Hell, why not use Tim Drake’s origin story: he works out Batman’s secret identity and demands the job of sidekick?

4        The Riddler

Riddler is one of Batman’s most enduring and iconic villains, right up there with Joker and Penguin, but he’s had a troubled history both on page and screen. This is mainly because his central gimmick – leaving riddles at the scene of his crimes – is difficult to write well. But I think that Rocksteady Studio’s Arkham videogames have shown that, not only can the Riddler be an effective villain, he can be terrifying. The Rocksteady games, particularly Arkham City, portrayed the Riddler as a narcissistic sociopath obsessed with proving his intellectual superiority to all and sundry, but especially Batman. He kidnaps people and places them in sadistic death traps reminiscent of the Saw films, justifying his actions by claiming that his victims would have survived if they had been smarter. Add his kung fu kicking female sidekicks, Query and Echo, for some muscle and fanservice, and you’ve got a big screen villain.

'I'll get you next time, Batman!'

I can already envisage this new, more swashbuckling Batman film – told from the perspective of precocious teenager Tim Drake, he becomes determined to find out the secret identity of his idol, the Batman, an established superhero with a history of crime fighting in Gotham City. Meanwhile Batman, in partnership with Commissioner Gordon, is investigating a spree of burglaries by a mysterious criminal who leaves riddles at the scene of his crimes. As Batman solves more of his clues, the Riddler raises the stakes by kidnapping civilians and forcing Batman to negotiate his death mazes to save them. The overarching theme would be questions of identity – who is Batman, who is the Riddler, who is Tim Drake – and the finale would have the whole of Gotham City Hall turned into one giant death trap that Batman and his new sidekick Robin have to negotiate to save the mayor, or something like that. Add in an arc plot for the franchise involving Hugo Strange as a master puppeteer and you’re done. Hell, I’ll write it for them!

Formulaic fantasy - How Joe Roth is stifling a genre

Who is Joe Roth? He is a Hollywood producer, with a long list of successful films on his CV, including the Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland and Snow White and the Huntsman. I mention him because when the trailer for Sam Raimi’s new film, Oz the Great and Powerful, was revealed last week, it announced that it is ‘From the producer of Alice in Wonderland’: Joe Roth. Here is the trailer:

Anybody else getting a sense of déjà vu? We only have a few minutes of footage, but it looks like Mr Roth is giving us the same basic film again. The set dressing might have changed but the essential plot is another rehash of the Narnia story. A plucky and/or innocent character is transported to a magical fairy tale land under the dominion of a card-carrying villain. There is a chase and an escape. The protagonist meets some ‘wacky’ supporting characters, raises an army, there is a battle, evil is defeated, and it ends with the inevitable sequel hook.

I actually walked out of Snow White the Huntsman when I saw it in the cinema. I am a sucker for heroic fantasy but a combination of Kristen Stewart’s excruciatingly bland performance and the sheer mind-numbing, clichéd nature of the whole thing was too much. It made Avatar look like ground-breaking story telling. Prequel, sequel, reboot, reimaging; call it what you like, it’s the same film every time. Everybody is just wearing different hats.

Come to think of it, most of the changes that Disney made to A Princess of Mars when they adapted it as the much maligned John Carter seemed purposefully designed to fit this formula. In the book, Mars is a world in decline; its ecosystem has been devastated, forcing the various city states to fight constantly for ever dwindling resources. Apparently this was too subtle for the film makers. There simply has to be a card-carrying, world-threatening villain, so the city of Zodanga is now responsible for all the world’s problems, manipulated behind the scenes by the Therns. The director has already made a children’s film with powerful eco-message, WALL:E. Why did he shy away from the same message in John Carter? I suspect it was to appease the all-powerful formula.

Formula can be good. It’s essential to some genres. Almost all detective stories share some basic elements: a culprit, a detective, a mystery to be solved. It’s the variations, or lack of them, that make an individual work good or bad. But fantasy? Fantasy is supposed to be the one genre where rules and conventions no longer apply. Even science fiction (of the ‘hard’ type, at least) is bound by what is at least theoretically possible. Fantasy is only limited by the story teller’s imagination. And modern special effects have given us an unprecedented ability to put the limits of our invention on the silver screen. So why does Hollywood insist on churning out the same story over and over and over again? I suspect the answer is about box office returns. Innovation is risky. Innovation does not test well in the focus groups. The movie-going public likes familiarity; likes ‘brand recognition’. But then how did something like Inception, innovative and original, become a hit? Hollywood should give the public more credit.

At the very least, they should stop revisiting the classics! Does anybody really think that Sam Raimi is going to make a film on par with the original Wizard of Oz? We’ve got some pretty definitive versions of Alice in Wonderland and Snow White on screen. Let’s see some new adaptations; books we haven’t seen on the big screen yet.
 

What about a film starring Fritz Leiber’s barbarian hero Fafhrd and his partner in crime, the Grey Mauser? They’d be ideal for a swashbuckling heist film. Or a film of one of the Chrestomanci books by Diana Wynne Jones; a dimension-hopping, Doctor Who-style adventure with the titular wizard? Maybe look at the works of Tim Powers, a personal favourite of mine, like The Anubis Gates (time travel, Regency London and Egyptian sorcery) or The Drawing of the Dark (magical beer and Arthurian legend in 16th century Vienna)? Or Jim Butcher’s The Dresden Files; a noir detective thriller with vampires and black magic?

 There you go Hollywood. You can have those ideas for free. Just don’t let Joe Roth get his hands on them.

'John Carter' - What on Mars happened?

Three weeks ago, I saw a film that I had been looking forward to for some time: John Carter. It had its flaws (what film does not?) but I thought it was  charming, witty and fun, with strong characters and some of the best FX I had seen at the cinema in a long time. I left the cinema enthusing about the story and already looking forward to the sequel.

Then I got home and read some of the reviews.

I had already read the reviews from SFX, Empire and Total Film, which ranged from positive to average. But I soon discovered that other critics had positively savaged the film, describing it as dull and confusing. Their judgement appears to have been carried through to the box office. Disney is set to lose $200 million on John Carter, making it the biggest flop in cinema history to date.

This makes me sad. As I said above, I had been looking forward to John Carter for some time. I became a fan of Edgar Rice Burrough’s original novel, A Princess of Mars, at nineteen when I read it on a train journey to London and have gone on to read many of its numerous sequels. The series is pulp, there is no questioning that, but it is so gloriously pulp that it takes on a kind of operatic grandeur. Everything about the series is exaggerated and impossible: the masculinity of the men, the beauty of the women, the scale of the scenery, the bloodiness of the violence. John Carter himself is like a combination of Conan the Barbarian, Superman, and a hero from a classic Western. He possesses super strength, can leap tall buildings with a single bound, and is described as ‘the greatest swordsman of two worlds’, regularly fending off overwhelming odds single-handed. But he is also a Southern gentleman of the old school; courteous, brave, and honourable. The question is not so much ‘why did Disney waste so much money on this story’ as, ‘how did they fail to make money with this story’?



A day in the life of John Carter. How could they not make a cool film out of this?



The film itself is a reasonable adaptation of the book. It has its flaws, of course. Releasing it in 3D probably didn’t help – people aren’t willing to spend extra to go and see a film they are not sure they will like. I also got the impression that a lot of critics could not get past William Dafoe’s opening narration. While it was admirable for the writers to stick so closely to their source material, perhaps playing down Burrough’s made-up words (Barsoom, Zodanga, Tharks, etc.) would have made the film more accessible.

I also felt like the film makers were holding back on the action. Andrew Stanton, the director, has spoken about his desire to adapt the first three books into a cinematic trilogy. That would explain why the battle scenes lack the scale of films like The Lord of the Rings. I still found them more engaging than Avatar though (that is another rant for another time).

A lot of people have blamed poor marketing for Carter’s poor performance. The decision to change the name by dropping the ‘of Mars’ suffix did leave it with a fairly bland title. Why not add a subtitle, like Pirates of the Caribbean: ‘John Carter: A Princess of Mars’ (although that might put boys and teenagers off; it sounds a little like Barbie’s First Space Opera)? Or use the original title from the book’s serialisation: ‘John Carter: Under the Moons of Mars’?

I can only speak for the UK but there did seem to be a distinct lack of posters, television advertising, or the usual paraphernalia that accompanies a big Hollywood production. Had Disney already resigned themselves to releasing a turkey and did not want to waste more money on futile marketing? All I can say to that is: Hollywood has made a lot of money with films that are a lot worse than John Carter. Here is a run-down of some recent box office takings:

• X-Men Origins: Wolverine - $373 million
• Clash of the Titans (2010) - $493 million  
• Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen - $836 million
• Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End – $963 million

I sat through every one of those stinkers. I would defy anybody, professional critic or not, to tell me that John Carter was a worse film. Transformers 2 had a couple of racist stereotypes and giant robotic testicles, for crying out loud! And it still made its budget back four times over!

The marketing for John Carter did seem confused. In a film featuring superbly realised mo-cap aliens, some genuinely funny moments, and a romance with a beautiful princess, why did the posters only show Carter fighting the two great white apes? A recent article on the BBC website suggested that the film’s advertising should have played up the romantic nature of the plot to attract female viewers. This sounds a bit patronising to me but it does beg the question why Dejah Thoris, the female lead and one of the best things about the film, was not featured more prominently.



A problem frequently mentioned by critics was the film’s apparently derivative nature. I say apparently because, although the likes of Superman, Flash Gordon, Star Wars, and Avatar, were all influenced by Burrough’s work, people unfamiliar with the book (speaking of which, where were the re-releases from Burrough’s Esate?) might dismiss John Carter as a ‘rip-off’. Why did the marketing not play on this? ‘See the story that inspired a century of fiction’? ‘A hundred years in the making’? ‘Only now can the cinema contain the epic scope of Burrough’s vision’?

In the end, the best fans like me can hope for is that John Carter will be remembered as fun but unappreciated. Perhaps it might resurface one day as a cult classic. For now though there is no prospect of the sequel I was looking forward to when I came out of the cinema three weeks ago. I will probably never get to see John Carter descend into the bowels of Mars to confront the hideous goddess Issus, or the epic airship battle above the planet’s south pole. It will be a long time before any studio is brave enough to return to Barsoom. John Carter will go down in cinematic history with Waterworld and Cutthroat Island as gigantic box office failures, while audiences continue to queue up for Michael Bay’s own brand of vacuous, moronic, jingoistic effluence.

Why can't we have some honest songs?

Christian worship must be the only time in your life when you are expected to sing in public and mean what you sing. We don’t expect the actors in a West End musical to be sincerely declaring their undying love for their co-star, who they may privately loathe. When a generic pop star sings about how much they want to be with the generic subject of their generic ballad we’re not expected to believe that they are singing about an actual person, are we? Even the most personal and heartfelt song must become less ‘authentic’ after the seventieth performance.

Christian worship songs are different to other kinds of song, of course. They are addressed to a specific person: God. A worship song is nothing more than a prayer set to music. But sometimes I don’t want to say the particular prayer that the leader has chosen. Worse, sometimes I can’t say it. Take My Jesus, my Saviour, which we sang at church this morning:

My Jesus, my saviour,

Lord, there is none like You.
All of my days I want to praise
the wonders of Your mighty love…

Except, I don’t. I’m probably not supposed to admit that as a Christian and a lay preacher but I don’t want to praise God all of my days. Not this morning at least. At the moment I’m not even certain He’s there. So when I sing those words, I feel like I am lying. If I was singing a love song for a public performance or for the sheer joy of singing it would not be a problem. But I am not singing for my own pleasure (God knows my singing would never bring anyone else pleasure!). I am praying to God. Praying with words I did not write and do not mean.

Modern worship songs are particularly guilty of this kind of dishonesty. ‘I could sing of your love forever’. No you couldn’t. You would run out of breath. You would run out of words. You would have to stop to go to the toilet. Facetious? Yes but we often sing things in worship that we would never say in public, let alone in our private prayers.

‘Though I’m weak and poor,

all I have is Yours,
every single breath…’

Do you really mean that? All that you have?

‘You’re altogether lovely,

altogether worthy,
altogether wonderful to me.’

Do you really mean that? God seems wonderful and lovely to you every day; every Sunday; every time you sing that song?

Where are the songs for the people who are doubting? Where are the songs for times of searching and suffering? Do we always have to sing about how great and wonderful it is to know God? What if we occasionally sang about how God feels far away; when we’re not sure if he’s there; when we resent him for what is happening in the world?

The Book of Psalms has plenty of them:

 ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do no answer; and by night, but find no rest.’

(Psalm 22)

‘I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me.

In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearing; my soul refuses to be comforted.
I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints’

(Psalm 77)

 
‘By the rivers of Babylon – there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.’

(Psalm 137)

Lamentations, Jeremiah, Job: whole books of the Bible are devoted to times of suffering and darkness, when God seems far from His people. Even Jesus knew what it was to feel God’s absence:

‘Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” (Matthew 26: 38-39)

We have countless songs in our hymn books for Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. Perhaps it’s time we added a few for Gethsemane.

The problem with using these themes in worship is that, although they may comfort, they don’t tend to uplift people. You want to give people hope and good news when they worship on a Sunday morning, not despair and uncertainty. And sometimes singing a hopeful or a joyful song can do just that. But I think our public worship would be more relevant and, more importantly, more honest if we acknowledged that some of the people present are not in a place where they can sing a perky Matt Redman number.

There is space for doubt and lamentation in Christianity but many modern churchgoers are afraid to admit it. Modernity demands certainty from us. The new atheism demands irrefutable proof for the divine. Mystery and paradox are to be discarded, or at the very least hushed up and not spoken of in front of potential converts. But the orthodox, historic Christian tradition has doubt, mystery and suffering at its very core. It’s time we gave it space to breath again. Let’s leave the happy-clappy, ‘Jesus you’re a top bloke’ songs in the cupboard occasionally. Let’s ask God where he is. Let’s tell him our fears and doubts. Let’s mix some laments into our anthems. Let’s keep our worship honest.

‘And the pledge and the vow is you'll find if you seek,

But what if I try and find nothing but bleak....

Turn me tender again, fold me into you,

Turn me tender again, and mould me to new,
Faith lost its promise and bruised me deep blue,
Turn me tender gain, through union with you....’

Turn me tender again, Martyn Joseph

What is fantasy?

This is a post about fantasy – knights and wizards, dragons and goblins. It is fantasy in the tradition of Beowulf and King Arthur, J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling. And I love it. Some of the first books I can remember reading on my own were The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia. I have spent hours absorbed in fantasy-themed video games such as Heroes of Might and Magic or Baldur’s Gate. Fantasy is one of my favourite genres and one I return to over and over again.

Fantasy has recently pushed its way back into the mainstream with HBO’s adaptation of GRR Martin’s doorstopper A Game of Thrones. Not having Sky Atlantic, I have been unable to watch it, but I have read the first two books in the Song of Ice and Fire series. What intrigued me about the TV adaption, and provoked this blog post, were the press releases. David Benioff, one of the writers, described it as: ‘The Sopranos Meets Middle Earth’. One magazine article I read simply said: ‘It’s The Lord of the Rings with sex’.

The Lord of the Rings with sex? Does it need sex? Would the story have been massively improved if Aragorn had taken Eowyn for a roll in the hay? Would we have empathised more with Frodo if he had stopped to shag the occasional elf? Would Sauron have been a more effective villain if he had manifested to rape a character or two?

I have read two books from A Song of Ice and Fire and the sex scenes were easily the worst thing about them. They had all the erotic feeling of a biology textbook. If anything was pornographic about them, it was the violence. A Clash of Kings, the second book, was particularly bad in this regard. It seemed that Martin could not let a chapter pass without a reference to murder, torture or rape. Which begs the question: whose fantasy is this?

                                                 
A Song of Ice and Fire is sometimes referred to as ‘dark fantasy’, to set it apart from ‘heroic’ or ‘high’ fantasy such as The Lord of the Rings or the Shannara series. ‘Dark fantasy’ is usually characterised by graphic violence, plenty of sex and its morally grey anti-heroes. All of these things have their place in fiction but I would question whether that place is in fantasy.

Do not get me wrong. I am not arguing that all fantasy should be sanitised or child-friendly. Fritz Leiber’s Lankhmar series of short stories are some of the best examples of fantasy I have ever read and they concern two morally ambiguous thieves, whose adventures often feature sex and violence. The key is how the author treats them. A Song of Ice and Fire seems to be out to make fantasy ‘dark’ and ‘gritty’. Martin wants to write a ‘mature’ fantasy story but his books come across as immature, equating ‘adult’ with graphic sex scenes and copious violence.  

It is not even particularly realistic. There is no doubt that the Middle Ages were a brutal time to be alive, with much violence, exploitation and hypocrisy. But life was not totally joyless: people still fell in love, formed friendships, told jokes, celebrated holidays. There was culture too. The Middle Ages produced some astounding works of art, music, literature and architecture. Science, philosophy and theology continued to advance. There were monsters, undoubtedly, but there were also saints. There was still light in the darkness. A Song of Ice and Fire all but snuffs out that light in the name ‘grim and gritty’ story telling. Again, this begs the question: whose fantasy is this?

This is not supposed to be an account of real people or events. This is all being dreamt up by the author. So why do these dreams look more like nightmares? They might be entertaining nightmares; the horror genre is all about creating new nightmares. But is that what fantasy is all about? Thrilling us with bloodshed? Just because a story contains dragons and wizards, does that automatically make it a fantasy? Is the genre more than its tropes?

I once read that one of the reasons that Harry Potter is so popular is because it presents its readers with an ideal boarding school; a world of charm, mystery and adventure. It is the world ‘as it should be’ or, at least, as we wish it could be. To me, that is the core of fantasy: it is a genre where we can explore our deepest desires. A Song of Ice and Fire does not do that. It is a story so dark and bloody that it is neither truly realistic or fantastical. It does not inspire readers or reach for something better – it wallows in the worst aspects of our history and our natures.

G.K. Chesterton said that: 'fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.’ That, to me, is the core of all true fantasy. We read The Lord of the Rings because it tells us about the strength and nobility of little, unimportant people like you and me. We look in our wardrobes for the way to Narnia because it reminds us that there is magic and wonder in even the most ordinary places. We read about the knight slaying the dragon because it tells us that the dragons in our lives can be slain too.

At its best, fantasy affirms the deep truths of the universe and inspires us to continue to hope and dream. It tells us that heroes are real, that evil can be overcome and that there is still wonder and enchantment in the world.