Unit 2 Book Analysis

Sideways Stories From Wayside School

Louis Sachar’s 1978 book, Sideways Stories from Wayside School, tells thirty stories from the perspectives of thirty characters on a thirtieth-floor classroom. It has become popular enough that for many children it may be one of the first times they are exposed to bizarre and absurdist humor. The book opens with the description of the school itself, which was meant to be one floor with thirty classrooms, but due to a construction mix-up, was built with thirty floors (except for a missing nineteenth), with one classroom on each. Through a mixture of directness, as well as implicitly in its tone and often nonsensical writing style, it encourages children and students to experiment, question norms and authorities, and explore what makes them unique.

The chapters are episodic in nature, with each chapter focusing on a different character. Most are about students, with a few exceptions: the evil Mr. Gorf who turns children into apples for misbehaving, her much kinder replacement Mrs. Jewls, and Louis, who serves as a sort of proxy for the author himself. The classroom serves as a sort of microcosm of absurdity, with chapters addressing real issues that children face, albeit in humorous ways.

The Three Erics, for example, face an identity crisis when they are all given negative, stereotyped nicknames that imply the direct opposite of who they really are. A boy named Nancy and a his girlfriend Mac decide to change names under obvious pressure for their names to match their genders. Terrence constantly messes up at recess in front of his peers, facing verbal punishment from them as well as adults.

A strong theme in the book is futility in the face of authority, specifically the frustration kids feel in the presence of adult authority figures. Todd is the best-behaved student in class, but due to constant mix-ups, he somehow manages to be sent home every day at noon as punishment. In his chapter, despite being harassed by another student and saving the class from a robbery, he still somehow violates Mrs. Jewls’ three-strike system and is sent home. In another chapter, Mrs. Jewls sends Dameon on a pointless quest to ask Lewis if he wants to join the class in watching a movie about turtles. He repeatedly runs up and down the stairs as messenger between Louis and Mrs. Jewls until he misses the entire movie himself. In the end, Louis decides not to watch the movie. He doesn't like turtles because they are slow.

Taking a hopeless, futile situation and making it humorous is a common theme in absurdist film and literature. The fact is that many of the children of Wayside School are frustrated, as children are in real life. Their frustrations include authority, inability to fit in, and social rules they don’t seem to grasp. The value of Sideways Stories is that it acknowledges that often times, children simply can’t change their circumstances. But they can learn to experiment within the limitations they are given and come to appreciate and even love what sets them apart from the norm.

Play

Play and Pokemon Red

My experience with play this week also incorporated a lot of nostalgia. I was able to find and play through a version of Pokemon Red, the first entry in the Pokemon franchise back in 1996, though not my first experience with the games when I was growing up. Though I have experienced the game more recently than I’d probably like to readily admit, it had still been some time and considering the game a bit more analytically was a fresh experience. All video games have rules, whether explicit or unwritten, and most have objectives the player needs to complete in order to win. Games like Pokemon offer kids the chance to experience both the advantages and limitations of rules, and what, for them, defines winning.

Pokemon’s original premise, and it’s entire marketing campaign (“Gotta catch ‘em all”) is based around the idea of collecting the various types, totaling 150 in the original series. But there are other dynamics at work. The in-game credits don’t actually roll until the player has battled his/her way to the top and become the Pokemon champion. As part of the story, the player is caught up in a quest to stop an evil organization, Team Rocket, from fulfilling their schemes. For others, Pokemon is simply a fun social experience, with options existing for playing against or trading with friends.

The distinct aspects of the game—completing the Pokedex,becoming champion, fighting evil, and playing with friends—remain the pillars of the franchise amidst lots of other changes it has undergone. Players are free to choose what winning means for them and what kind of character they want to be: researcher, champion, hero, or social. Developing in any of these areas requires achieving certain objectives, but it isn’t necessary to master every aspect in order to complete the others.

Games can be valuable tools to teach children about life, but have inherent limitation. Sometimes playing by the rules is important, but at others, a game’s necessarily limited possibilities eventually inhibit a child’s ability to think “outside the box.” Pokemon, while certainly still limited by this kind of restriction, offers children with differing values, interests, and personality types a chance to define for themselves what winning means to them.

Unit 4 Film Analysis

The Iron Giant 

Brad Bird’s The Iron Giant was released by Warner Brothers in 1999, at the tail end of the so-called Disney animation renaissance. It failed to earn back even half its budget at the box office, but today it enters many critics’ lists as one of the best animated films ever made. Maybe the absence of musical numbers or talking animal side-kicks hurt its performance, but more importantly, Warner Brothers didn’t seem to know what kind of film they had or how to market it. The Iron Giant  tackled issues that even today remain touchy subjects, and did so with a kind of nuance that was pretty much unheard of for an American children’s film in the 90’s. Though it initially suffered for it financially, it remains a testament that children’s entertainment can challenge kids to consider topics that even adults struggle with, including gun control and even war itself.

Brad Bird, along with fellow CalArts graduate, John Lasseter, were early American fans of Hayao Miyazaki’s work. When they went on to collaborate at Pixar, both acknowledged they had been inspired by films like Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind and My Neighbor Totoro, and wanted to take a similar approach to addressing conflict and issues in kid’s films. Like Miyazaki, they weren’t satisfied with black and white representations, of purely virtuous heroes, and villains that were evil incarnate. Bird’s sensibilities are clear in The Iron Giant as in those later films.

The Iron Giant  is set in 1957, when Cold War paranoia was at its hight and the world was one bad decision away from nuclear holocaust. As an homage to Sci-Fi B-moves of the 50’s, it smartly uses nostalgia and pop culture to address anti-war and anti-gun themes, along with empowering themes of overcoming prejudice and the dark sides of one’s own nature. It’s also empowering for kids because nine-year-old Hogarth actually takes on the role of teacher. He teaches the Iron Giant, who is essentially a child figure himself, about the beauty of life, choices, and the difference between good and evil.

It’s impressive that even in developing its anti-war theme, the film avoids demonizing the military, as often happens. The closest thing the film has to a villain is actually Mansley, who is simply greedy for power. The giant himself, pitched by Brad Bird as “a gun with a soul,” is a sympathetic figure. Due to programming, he only becomes dangerous when he sees another weapon. The message is clear: violence begets violence, fear begets fear.

For all its nods to E.T., The Day the Earth Stood Still, and Superman comics, and though beneath a colorful mix of traditional animation and CG, it tells a deceptively simple story, there is a complexity in theme as well as a sense of charity for its characters that set The Iron Giant apart from kids films in its era. There was very likely a reluctance or uncertainty in portraying “adult” themes in kid’s media that led the film to be overlooked at its initial release. But today it can be seen really as one of the first in a trend toward children’s entertainment that can be entertaining as well as substantive, encouraging young viewers to ponder on issues that they can one day be influential in addressing.

Unit 4 Book Analysis

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Themes of sacrifice are no stranger to adventure and fantasy stories. Joseph Campbell, who theorized the “monomyth,”writes that each hero has to descend into the abyss in order to ascend—often as a literal death and resurrection—and to achieve his reward at the journey’s end. It suggests something Messianic, but also isn’t without application for everyman struggles either. As the last of a seven-book series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (2007) finds author J.K. Rowling trying to neatly conclude themes from both sides of that coin: both those of sacrifice and atonement, and the day to day struggle that many have with their own faith.

Harry Potter is easily the most ubiquitous series of young adult novels of this generation. Despite undeniable Christian references throughout the series—with Rowling identifying as Christian herself—as it became more culturally pervasive, the series was met a proportionate amount of criticism, mostly from Christian denominations fearful that it would lead kids to the occult. But the “magic” in Harry Potter has much more in common with the fantasy of Tolkein or C.S. Lewis, both with a long-acknowledged Christian subtext to their work. Deathly Hallows has Rowling focusing these themes and refining them, with Harry serving both as Christ figure as well as everyman.

Harry’s climactic sacrifice at in Hallows is the most-often recognized evidence of spiritual subtext in the series. It’s pretty unmistakable: in order to save both wizard and muggle-kind, Harry has to give up his own life. His sacrifice strips evil (personified, of course, by Voldemort) of its power, and Harry returns to life empowered to achieve an ultimate victory. Earlier in the novel, Harry visits his parents tombstones for the first time in his life. Engraved is the passage from 1 Corinthians 15:26: “And the last enemy which shall be defeated is death.” The passage refers to Christ’s death and resurrection, but also foreshadow’s Harry’s acceptance of his own death, as well as seeing his parents again through the power of the resurrection stone. In the interim between his death and revival, Harry find’s himself in King’s Cross—where his life had been taken down a literally different path—and the station’s name is not without significance either. There he meets with Dumbledore, the series’ biggest patriarchal figure.

This leads to another, less-frequently discussed, spiritual subtext of Deathly Hallows. Rowling stated that her own and struggle with religious belief is apparent in the novel. Campbell writes that in every story, at some point, the hero’s guide must leave the hero alone. In, Harry finds himself doubting Dumbledore, his recently-departed mentor. In his presence, Harry had found a constant reassurance, but once separated, one reason after another crops up for Harry to doubt whether Dumbledore ever care for him at all, whether he was ever honest with Harry, and whether the quest he started Harry on was just a farce. Ultimately, his faith overcomes his doubt, and at Harry’s sacrifice, he is returned to the presence of this father figure.

For kids, it’s completely possible to enjoy Harry Potter as an adventure story without the spiritual subtext, in the same way this can be done with The Lord of the Rings, or The Chronicles of Narnia. Allegorical works are valuable to kids and adults alike because they open the reader or viewer to truths they might otherwise disengage with. Joseph F. Smith said, “We are willing to receive all truth, from whatever source it may come; for truth will stand, truth will endure…” Truth simply resonates, and series like Harry Potter can become a passage through which kids begin to examine their own values, and often, even their relationship with God.

Week 11

Critique

“The concept of portraying evil and then destroying it--I know this is considered mainstream, but I think it is rotten. This idea that whenever something evil happens someone particular can be blamed and punished for it, in life and in politics is hopeless.”  --Hayao Miyazaki

In a textbook example of missing the point completely, the first time Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984) made it to the U.S, it was in the form of 95-minute New World Pictures edit called Warriors of the Wind. Rather infamous now, the re-cut watered down the film’s environmentalist themes and turned the Ohmu into the chief antagonists, sealing the deal with a VHS cover featuring three male warriors (nonexistent in the film) in a Star Wars-esque pose, with Nausicaä relegated to the background, in order to market it for children. In western media animation was, and to some extent still is, largely seen as a “for-kids-only” medium. For that matter, children’s films generally weren’t seen as a platform for discussing serious issues—at least not with much depth or subtlety. In his films, Miyazaki strives for a higher standard, to challenge his audience and responsibilize them, including children.

The film was the United Sates’ first exposure to Miyazaki and his thematic interests of pacifism, feminism, environmentalism, among others, that he would further develop throughout his career. We are introduced to a strong female hero, and she isn’t the girl Rambo, though she proves herself more than capable. She resolves conflict with charity, compassion, and understanding. The world in Nausicaä is a stunning, ominous apocalyptic landscape, but cackling overlords and mindless killing machines are absent. The villains of the film are that of greed, ignorance and fear. Though minor conflicts are set up and resolved, ultimately the film isn’t man vs. nature, or even man vs. man, but man vs. man’s nature.

Another important note is that the insects are actually frightening, and definitely more so to kids. In most media there is a constantly-reinforced association of beauty with goodness, and ugliness with evil. It’s a powerful notion that even though we as an audience might sympathize with the creatures much sooner than many characters do, there is still something of a gut-level instinct to fear them, possibly even hate them, because of their appearance. Even at a young age, children don’t have to be told that the insects are bad—they make that assumption. Few children’s films are willing to place the burden of responsibility—not just on it’s characters, but audience as well—to come to admire something when our instincts might tell us to shoot it, or to run far, far away.

There is a temptation in films that deal with heavy topics topics to corporealize the enemy. Set him up in act one so we knock him down in act three, and we go home happy and contented because hey, we beat racism, or hunger, or the evil U.S. Marines that want to destroy the sacred trees. This temptation is especially strong in children’s films. While on an individual basis, there might not be anything inherently damaging about that plot, when all kid’s films seem to be self-congratulatory, it becomes a problem. Miyazaki has become possibly the greatest animated filmmaker ever because he inspires, but he doesn’t reward his audience for watching a movie. There is an undeniable urge to change something about the world, and maybe—if children can’t wake up and create world peace tomorrow or the next day—to change something about themselves, and the way they view the world.

**And just so this isn't a complete "let's bash western media" kind of blog entry, here's an awesome (and bold) MGM Christmas cartoon from 1939.

Experimentation

Some of the most common advice given to enterprising artists are statements like “Don’t censor yourself,” “just let your ideas flow freely,” “silence your inner-critic.” It’s a pretty widely-accepted idea that in art, at least in its early stages, avoiding placing limits on yourself is often an important part of the creative process. In George Dunning’s Yellow Submarine (1968), this theme of freedom and anti-conformism might come secondary to other quintessentially Woodstock-era philosophies like the power of peace, love and music. But it’s the idea in which form seems to perfectly accompany message and purpose. Yellow Submarine teaches kids about embracing uniqueness and being unafraid of experimentation, not just in story, but in aesthetic.

John Lennon wrote “I Am the Walrus” as an absurd mix of unrelated and unfinished ideas—taken from some of his own poetry, a nursery rhyme, a Lewis Carol reference, and a dash of nonsense lyrics—partly in the attempt to frustrate critics who liked to over-analyze the Beatles’ music. The song isn’t featured in the Yellow Submarine, but the philosophy certainly is. There is a strong element of spontaneity, a kind of stream-of-consciousness, controlled chaos that runs through the length of the film, not unlike how the Beatles themselves created much of their music. With episodes like The Sea of Time, and the Sea of Holes, the story resembles a child’s dream, and trying to explain it out loud as having some kind of logical structure throughout probably proves just as fruitless and frustrating. In that aspect it reminds me of Time Bandits (1981), a film I wrote an analysis for early in the semester.

Speaking of Terry Gilliam, Yellow Submarine’s avant-garde animation must have at least partly inspired some of the work he would do on Do Not Adjust Your Set and his work with the Pythons just a short time later. The animation is unique, often beautiful, sometimes disorienting, and definitely psychedelic. It isn’t quite like anything that came before, combining the decade’s colorful graphic art with cutout animation and surreal imagery. The thrown-together feel adds to the impression that it’s a film seemingly unburdened by self-censorship.

In many ways—and this isn’t a criticism—Yellow Submarine feels like a film was created in a brainstorming process and then just left there. That’s not true; it’s actually a fully realized,  strangely beautiful, enjoyable film. But the sense of controlled chaos is fitting for a children’s animation sprung from the Summer of Love, and all the philosophies we associate with the era. It’s a story about freedom to enjoy music, art, and life without succumbing to the bummers that are the blue meanies. And unlike a lot of other works that tell kids to “just be yourself” or “just enjoy life” it seems justified in giving that advice, because it’s very creation seems loyal to the same idea.

Unit 2 Film Analysis

The Little Fugitive

Ray Ashley’s The Little Fugitive (1953) is a independent film that documents the adventures of a young man after he decides to run away from home, to the farthest place he knows—Coney Island. It’s a fictional story, but it’s naturalistic, documentary-style approach was unusual for its time. It clearly drew from the Italian Neo-Realist movement in its pacing, scope, and aesthetics, and likewise would prove influential on the French New Wave that would come a few years later. Ray Ashley’s unique, realistic approach to a simple story leads the audience to identify much more intimately with a character and in the process, to access forgotten truths from their own childhoods

Lennie and Joey Norton are brothers living in the suburbs, forced to spend the weekend without their mother around. To get rid of him, Lennie and his friends trick Joey into thinking that he has killed his older brother and the police will soon be after him. With six dollars, Joey hops a train and flees to Coney Island. There Joey plans to live out the rest of his days riding horses and drinking soda. Meanwhile Lennie soon realizes his mistake and tries to locate Joey.

The first impression the film makes is its marked realism. It was shot handheld on a 35 mm camera, creating an almost home-movie feel. Richie Andrusco and Richard Brewster, who play Joey and Lennie respectively, were first-time actors. Their performances are so convincing it seems likely that Ashley often just left the camera roll and let the boys be themselves. Moments play out quietly and cuts are few. Even with the occasional plot conveniences, the film feels honest. There’s a genuine quality that, without feeling overly saccharine, creates a sense of nostalgia whether the viewer experienced the 50’s firsthand or not.

Like the best films that attempt to give realistic portrayals of childhood, it doesn’t diminish or belittle the problems that the boys experience. It’s relatively lighthearted; there are no life-altering tragedies on display, but it’s successful in showing the wonder as well as anxiety of a child trying to get by in an adult world. What’s impressive is that both wonder and anxiety seem to be on equal display—as they probably would be in a kid’s mind. Part of Joey knows he has to provide for himself somehow, to earn money so that he can eat, and part of him just wants to ride the carousel and spend money on horsey rides. It’s a truth that resonates with the viewer and effortlessly recalls memories of childhood, leading to greater identification with the characters.

The Little Fugitive doesn’t shy away from taking its time. It doesn’t hurtle toward plot points. For the most part it is content to simply observe moments in their beauty and honest simplicity. It allows for easy identification, whether for adult audiences in the 50’s, separated from Joey by age, or for a young viewer today separated by generations. To understand these characters and their world, one doesn’t need to have been a six-year-old in 1953; any more, say, than one needs to have been a teenager in 1976 to understand Dazed and Confused, or a young Iranian girl to understand The White Balloon. The Little Fugitive, and the uncommon films like it, serve   as a gateway of sorts, not only to another time and place, but within the viewers, encouraging them to recall and reconnect with a more childlike self.