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.
Monday, April 20, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
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.
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.
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.
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