Surprised by Goy
Jack Lewis' Christian allegory emerges via Hollywood,
strangely faithfully.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Two things I find aggravating to the point of dry heaves and weeping are as follows: 1. Christians and Jews always
getting pissy at each other over a single discrepancy in what is essentially the same faith; and 2. Inevitabilities of a
Groaningly Obvious Nature.
This stated, I cannot say that I approached the new Disney version of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch
and the Wardrobe with anything resembling full enthusiasm. Attending first to my second aggravation, the project is
exactly the sort of Inevitability I loathe, to wit: “Hey, Lord of the Rings made a whole lotta money and somehow even
won some fancy awards -- we better make one of those effects-laden ‘fantasy epic’ things, too, and quick-like!” In
theory: Blech. Why even start a project if you can imagine it completely finished simply by closing your eyes and not
lifting a finger?
In the first case, which is far trickier, frankly I am amazed by what appears to be at least a temporary theological cease-
fire in the creative community. In the early days of Hollywood, Disney was the only major studio not run primarily by
Jews, but today? Although people still constantly sniff each other for allegiances and form their little power-cliques, the
whole industry is nonetheless much more complex these days. And yet…a fully-outed Christian allegory? From
Hollywood? Is there a Ramadan movie in the pipeline, too?
I’m sorry if these observations upset you, and please keep your venom to yourselves, as I’ve had more than enough
terrible times lately, and Richard Roeper is probably much more deserving of your abuse. Rather, can you see my point?
Tolkien was way-Christian -- devoutly Catholic, actually -- but he fiercely (and tastefully) shunned allegory in his Middle
Earth (give or take a Nazgûl), thus when Saul Zaentz took over with his non-Tolkien-owned Tolkien Enterprises and
started turning Rings into gold, religious differences didn’t enter into it; these were and are stories (or, if you prefer,
$torie$). Narnia, however (which Tolkien really didn't like), is quite different. Its creator was aggressively Christian (to
the end, regardless of how the watered-down movie Shadowlands portrays him), and there’s simply no way to tell the
story of TLTWATW (unfortunate acronym) without making explicit Christian parallels -- to the delight of some and to the
dismay of others. In the case of this movie, I anticipated walking into a very compromised Narnia in which it was firmly
preordained, possibly in some lofty board-room attended by grossly underpaid servants, to produce a movie (and launch
a franchise) which would deliver the basic narrative whilst essentially apologizing for its own great apologist.
With all this (and more) in mind, I am still a bit stunned that The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is remarkably faithful
to the children’s book that beloved smoker C.S. “Jack” Lewis delivered to us over half a century ago. I’m not a huge fan
of the book -- I like it, but on a recent re-reading found it a bit sloppy and trite -- and yet, here it is, on the screen, nearly
verbatim. Weird. Especially coming from Andrew Adamson, co-director of the Shrek movies --which, "IMHO," took a
huge, unpardonable dump on the fairy tale world. Sad shrug. Perhaps given that Lewis’ stepson (Douglas Gresham, the
one who went Christian, and who provides a nifty radio voice-over here) serves as co-producer on TLTWATW has
something to do with it being so very strait-laced.
Anyway, here it is, and you already know the story: Four bored British kids go into a fantasy world to help a messianic
lion defeat a demonic witch, even though the witch is actually much more interesting than the lion and the lion really
doesn’t need anybody’s help anyway. (Hey, I didn’t make it a classic.)
The movie opens surprisingly, not because it plops us into the air raids over London during World War II (as expected),
but because our entry into the movie is from the perspective of the German bombers. I’m not sure if this creative choice
actually means anything, but it is undeniably strange, bearing aerial witness to civilized neighbourhoods going up in
flames far below. Graciously, Adamson (with his three credited co-screenwriters) then allows us to join the Pevensie
family as they escape their embattled house in Finchley (which becomes a sort of odd in-joke later on). While the
Pevensie patriarch is away fighting the war, Mrs. Pevensie (Judy McIntosh, think an aging Julia Roberts with convincing
emotions) sends her four uniquely-drawn children away via a train called the Opening Title Montage to the country
manse of eccentric Professor Kirke (Jim Broadbent in an awesome wig and beard arrangement), where the story proper
begins.
Since you already know the story, I am going to indulge myself even more than normal, praising and nit-picking as
randomly as Lewis seems to have thrown together the story itself.
For one thing, although I shall cease comparisons with this paragraph, the tone of this movie frequently feels forced, as
opposed to Peter Jackson’s Rings films. For example, the actor playing the faun, (Mr.) Tumnus (James McAvoy) does
not come across as particularly lovable but rather quite creepy, and yet the movie simply expects us to love him with the
same heightened emotion radiated by little Lucy (Georgie Henley, a good little actress even though she looks like a
miniature Monica Lewinsky). Or, in the big climactic battle (which, in the only major departure from the book, is
significantly expanded: When staging a battle, always remember to fight amidst interesting rock formations!), the eldest
Pensevie child, Peter (William Mosely) asks his loyal centaur associate, “Are you with me?” and the centaur firmly
replies, “To the death!” -- except that there’s not much foundation established beneath these brothers in arms, no Helm’s
Deep to have tested their mettle and made them stronger, merely this strange sense of Epic Drama for Epic Drama’s
sake, which rears its head in the movie a bit too often for its own good -- right up to the obligatory coronation scene in
the lofty palace of Minas Tirith…oops!...I mean, Cair Paravel. My uneasiness with this overall tone may be due to
Adamson’s going totally, abruptly cold-turkey on his established, Shrekian wink-wink, but more than that it’s probably
due to Lewis himself being apparently incapable, as a writer of fiction, of delivering the shades of ambiguity with which
Tolkien imbued a character as fascinating as Smeagol/Gollum. In Narnia, ideologically, most everything is painted in very
bold strokes of black and white, which leads to a presumptuousness in the storytelling which, to me, simply isn’t as
interesting as thoughtfully-carved ambiguity.
The only character who even comes close to being ambiguous here is the little Judas called Edmund (Skandar Keynes),
second-youngest Pevensie and, as in the book, the biggest jerk. While the movie’s kids never refer to him as a “beast” as
Lewis’ literary characters did (and Lewis even refers to his own Lion as the “great beast” -- hm…), they nonetheless
receive here plenty of reason to decry him as the traitor that he is. Well, that he is...for a while. Even though he sells out
his own kin for nothing more than gelatin-based candy wrought from snow and CG-magic, forgiveness and redemption
come easy in Lewis’ text -- and even easier in the movie.
This leaves us with the requisite forces of Darkness and Light, which arrive in this movie adaptation quite well and
exactly as expected. Indie aficionados have been blowing kisses to Tilda Swinton for some time, but now she’ll finally
get loads of mainstream attention, and what a perfect role for it: Apart from her repulsive honky-Rasta pseudo-
dreadlocks (which are more nightmarish than anything else about her), her White Witch/White Queen/Jadis character
here provides a perfect opportunity for getting her freak on, and she succeeds in high style, with an eeriness Glenn Close
never could have mustered. Her sneers and faux-kindness had me from Hell-o, but when the woman whips around
during battle and transforms two swooping gryphons into crashing stone, my opinion switched over into Genuinely
Impressed. Brava. Meanwhile, as the digital Christ-symbol, Aslan the Lion (whose Father, the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea,
is not mentioned here), Liam Neeson basically lends his voice in the same capacity he’s been lending his presence since
The Phantom Menace, namely, as Compassionate Patriarch. Again, works for me. See you again soon, Abe.
And there are plenty of things about TLTWATW which do not work for me, most notably the annoying Alanis Marionette
single stapled onto the end credits – she still “sings” like she’s being stabbed in the ass, and frankly it grates. (This
downer is salvaged somewhat by a rather nice Tim Finn song -- like Adamson, a native New Zealander -- which follows
on its heels.) Musically, although the Andrews Sisters prove an ideal choice early on for further establishing the mood
and time-frame of the earthly setting, whatever the hell band it is doing a Euro-techno Portishead imitation as the fantasy
element begins to take over really isn’t doing the production any favours. Directorially, meanwhile, I wasn’t much
convinced by the wonder of the Wardrobe, feeling instead hastened into it by choirs of cooing Soundtrack Angels while
slammed into close-ups of Lucy beaming at every coat and conifer lest for one millisecond I retreat into the security of
doubt. (That roar at the end could have gone, too; pity this wasn't an MGM production.)
I also find it irksome that these British characters say football “field” (instead of “pitch”) and speak of a “sleigh” (instead
of a “sledge”), and am mildly annoyed that malevolent chief police-wolf Fenris Ulf’s name has been changed here to
“Maugrim” or something like this, but these are the sorts of things I tend to notice because most of the other critics are
going to tell you the same things over and over again.
Character-wise, Swinton steals the show, of course -- however among the Pevensie children it is Anna Popplewell as
elder sister Susan who strides off with highest marks. Why? Because she effortlessly breathes humour into the otherwise
stately and sober proceedings. When she delivered the newly-invented line, “He’s a beaver – he shouldn’t be saying
anything!” I laughed right out loud. Thank you.
Speaking of which, a cockney Mr. Beaver (Ray Winstone) and his ever-primping wife Mrs. Beaver (Dawn French) stand
among the finest digital animals in a market increasingly oversaturated with them (I intend to be on vacation next year
when Martin Lawrence and Mr. Demi Moore show up as woodland creatures.) The animals and monsters and effects
here are all delivered with suitably astonishing confidence and creativity -- put this way not just because such effects
giants as ILM, Sony, Rhythm & Hues and WETA were on the case, but because they were guided by the visions of Alan
Lee and John Howe, and a brilliant art department, and entrusted to the master known as Richard Taylor -- who clearly
put in overtime among enormous crews too numerous to list here (even though the show belongs primarily to them). Big
applause; it looks wonderful. It would be interesting to know just how the divisions of power occurred between this
project and the latest King Kong remake, but this is also kind of irrelevant to the point at hand. Mainly, the creativity at
work here is sensational, particularly (no surprise) when we’re dealing with the scarier creatures. Those bugaboos
gathered around the Stone Table are quite stunning, not because they’re dark or demonic, but because they really reveal
freewheeling creativity in action (given that the author never actually described them).
And now, in closing, let us attend to that crucial sacrifice scene, and the religiousness and religiosity attending it. Heck,
it’s Aslan’s crucifixion. And you know what? I don’t like it. I like the movie overall, mind (even though Disney,
remakers of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, seem to be embroiled in a nasty habit of remaking, at great expense,
British franchises already very well delivered on reasonable budgets by the BBC), and for this much wondrous and
fantastic spectacle I am quite happy to make a perfect pig of myself (the dryad alone is worth the price of admission).
And yet this crucifixion and resurrection business -- it simply doesn’t work for me, from Lewis’ narrative onward. If,
for instance, Aslan knows for sure that he will be resurrected in the morning -- BOING! GOOD AS NEW! -- then how
much of a sacrifice is he making, really? A few minutes of taunting and acute agony, then sleep, then up again at dawn,
and that’s it? He could have taken half a dozen Tylenol on the way to the Stone Table. Even in fable, this doesn’t seem
like much of a price to pay for the Salvation of Humanity (even in the allegorical form of Edmund).
Furthermore, I am definitely bothered by Aslan’s extremely thoughtless handling of the Pevensie sisters, who accompany
him almost all the way to his grisly slaughter at the claws of unknown hundreds of murderous monsters. While, yes, he
requires compassionate witnesses in order for his sacrifice to mean anything, does he really believe that leaving Lucy and
Susan a few feet away in the foliage is in any way safe for them? I mean, come on! Devils and demons, goblins and
ghouls, all right there, sure to spot them. They'd have been caught and killed for sure. At least in the book, Aslan has the
decency to tell the children not to be seen, but in the screenplay adaptation he simply tells them where to stop (oddly, in a
spot where they can observe his “passion” perfectly while only the blue gels of the lighting crew -- and not the nearby
ritual fires -- are reflected in their faces). More strangely, although the movie cleaves closely to the events in the book,
the sequence is bled of even more of its drama en route to the sacrificial Table, as Lucy and Susan simply shove their
hands into Aslan’s mane sans permission. This should not be. It is clearly established in the book that Aslan strikes awe
and even fear into people, and although the sisters strongly desire to touch him, it is not until he offers them this sensory
pleasure that they dare finger that fur.
Ultimately, though, this project is definitely a case of filmmakers “getting it right” -- including the allegorical bits -- and if
you love the book it is hard to imagine you not loving the movie, regardless of the ideological prism through which you
view it.
Heck, this may well be a Godless world anyway, if Affleck and Damon have begun reproducing.
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Entertainment Value: 11/13
Style: 11/13
Philosophical Insight: 8/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 9 December, 2005
Jack Lewis' Christian allegory emerges via Hollywood,
strangely faithfully.
BY GREGORY WEINKAUF
Two things I find aggravating to the point of dry heaves and weeping are as follows: 1. Christians and Jews always
getting pissy at each other over a single discrepancy in what is essentially the same faith; and 2. Inevitabilities of a
Groaningly Obvious Nature.
This stated, I cannot say that I approached the new Disney version of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch
and the Wardrobe with anything resembling full enthusiasm. Attending first to my second aggravation, the project is
exactly the sort of Inevitability I loathe, to wit: “Hey, Lord of the Rings made a whole lotta money and somehow even
won some fancy awards -- we better make one of those effects-laden ‘fantasy epic’ things, too, and quick-like!” In
theory: Blech. Why even start a project if you can imagine it completely finished simply by closing your eyes and not
lifting a finger?
In the first case, which is far trickier, frankly I am amazed by what appears to be at least a temporary theological cease-
fire in the creative community. In the early days of Hollywood, Disney was the only major studio not run primarily by
Jews, but today? Although people still constantly sniff each other for allegiances and form their little power-cliques, the
whole industry is nonetheless much more complex these days. And yet…a fully-outed Christian allegory? From
Hollywood? Is there a Ramadan movie in the pipeline, too?
I’m sorry if these observations upset you, and please keep your venom to yourselves, as I’ve had more than enough
terrible times lately, and Richard Roeper is probably much more deserving of your abuse. Rather, can you see my point?
Tolkien was way-Christian -- devoutly Catholic, actually -- but he fiercely (and tastefully) shunned allegory in his Middle
Earth (give or take a Nazgûl), thus when Saul Zaentz took over with his non-Tolkien-owned Tolkien Enterprises and
started turning Rings into gold, religious differences didn’t enter into it; these were and are stories (or, if you prefer,
$torie$). Narnia, however (which Tolkien really didn't like), is quite different. Its creator was aggressively Christian (to
the end, regardless of how the watered-down movie Shadowlands portrays him), and there’s simply no way to tell the
story of TLTWATW (unfortunate acronym) without making explicit Christian parallels -- to the delight of some and to the
dismay of others. In the case of this movie, I anticipated walking into a very compromised Narnia in which it was firmly
preordained, possibly in some lofty board-room attended by grossly underpaid servants, to produce a movie (and launch
a franchise) which would deliver the basic narrative whilst essentially apologizing for its own great apologist.
With all this (and more) in mind, I am still a bit stunned that The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is remarkably faithful
to the children’s book that beloved smoker C.S. “Jack” Lewis delivered to us over half a century ago. I’m not a huge fan
of the book -- I like it, but on a recent re-reading found it a bit sloppy and trite -- and yet, here it is, on the screen, nearly
verbatim. Weird. Especially coming from Andrew Adamson, co-director of the Shrek movies --which, "IMHO," took a
huge, unpardonable dump on the fairy tale world. Sad shrug. Perhaps given that Lewis’ stepson (Douglas Gresham, the
one who went Christian, and who provides a nifty radio voice-over here) serves as co-producer on TLTWATW has
something to do with it being so very strait-laced.
Anyway, here it is, and you already know the story: Four bored British kids go into a fantasy world to help a messianic
lion defeat a demonic witch, even though the witch is actually much more interesting than the lion and the lion really
doesn’t need anybody’s help anyway. (Hey, I didn’t make it a classic.)
The movie opens surprisingly, not because it plops us into the air raids over London during World War II (as expected),
but because our entry into the movie is from the perspective of the German bombers. I’m not sure if this creative choice
actually means anything, but it is undeniably strange, bearing aerial witness to civilized neighbourhoods going up in
flames far below. Graciously, Adamson (with his three credited co-screenwriters) then allows us to join the Pevensie
family as they escape their embattled house in Finchley (which becomes a sort of odd in-joke later on). While the
Pevensie patriarch is away fighting the war, Mrs. Pevensie (Judy McIntosh, think an aging Julia Roberts with convincing
emotions) sends her four uniquely-drawn children away via a train called the Opening Title Montage to the country
manse of eccentric Professor Kirke (Jim Broadbent in an awesome wig and beard arrangement), where the story proper
begins.
Since you already know the story, I am going to indulge myself even more than normal, praising and nit-picking as
randomly as Lewis seems to have thrown together the story itself.
For one thing, although I shall cease comparisons with this paragraph, the tone of this movie frequently feels forced, as
opposed to Peter Jackson’s Rings films. For example, the actor playing the faun, (Mr.) Tumnus (James McAvoy) does
not come across as particularly lovable but rather quite creepy, and yet the movie simply expects us to love him with the
same heightened emotion radiated by little Lucy (Georgie Henley, a good little actress even though she looks like a
miniature Monica Lewinsky). Or, in the big climactic battle (which, in the only major departure from the book, is
significantly expanded: When staging a battle, always remember to fight amidst interesting rock formations!), the eldest
Pensevie child, Peter (William Mosely) asks his loyal centaur associate, “Are you with me?” and the centaur firmly
replies, “To the death!” -- except that there’s not much foundation established beneath these brothers in arms, no Helm’s
Deep to have tested their mettle and made them stronger, merely this strange sense of Epic Drama for Epic Drama’s
sake, which rears its head in the movie a bit too often for its own good -- right up to the obligatory coronation scene in
the lofty palace of Minas Tirith…oops!...I mean, Cair Paravel. My uneasiness with this overall tone may be due to
Adamson’s going totally, abruptly cold-turkey on his established, Shrekian wink-wink, but more than that it’s probably
due to Lewis himself being apparently incapable, as a writer of fiction, of delivering the shades of ambiguity with which
Tolkien imbued a character as fascinating as Smeagol/Gollum. In Narnia, ideologically, most everything is painted in very
bold strokes of black and white, which leads to a presumptuousness in the storytelling which, to me, simply isn’t as
interesting as thoughtfully-carved ambiguity.
The only character who even comes close to being ambiguous here is the little Judas called Edmund (Skandar Keynes),
second-youngest Pevensie and, as in the book, the biggest jerk. While the movie’s kids never refer to him as a “beast” as
Lewis’ literary characters did (and Lewis even refers to his own Lion as the “great beast” -- hm…), they nonetheless
receive here plenty of reason to decry him as the traitor that he is. Well, that he is...for a while. Even though he sells out
his own kin for nothing more than gelatin-based candy wrought from snow and CG-magic, forgiveness and redemption
come easy in Lewis’ text -- and even easier in the movie.
This leaves us with the requisite forces of Darkness and Light, which arrive in this movie adaptation quite well and
exactly as expected. Indie aficionados have been blowing kisses to Tilda Swinton for some time, but now she’ll finally
get loads of mainstream attention, and what a perfect role for it: Apart from her repulsive honky-Rasta pseudo-
dreadlocks (which are more nightmarish than anything else about her), her White Witch/White Queen/Jadis character
here provides a perfect opportunity for getting her freak on, and she succeeds in high style, with an eeriness Glenn Close
never could have mustered. Her sneers and faux-kindness had me from Hell-o, but when the woman whips around
during battle and transforms two swooping gryphons into crashing stone, my opinion switched over into Genuinely
Impressed. Brava. Meanwhile, as the digital Christ-symbol, Aslan the Lion (whose Father, the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea,
is not mentioned here), Liam Neeson basically lends his voice in the same capacity he’s been lending his presence since
The Phantom Menace, namely, as Compassionate Patriarch. Again, works for me. See you again soon, Abe.
And there are plenty of things about TLTWATW which do not work for me, most notably the annoying Alanis Marionette
single stapled onto the end credits – she still “sings” like she’s being stabbed in the ass, and frankly it grates. (This
downer is salvaged somewhat by a rather nice Tim Finn song -- like Adamson, a native New Zealander -- which follows
on its heels.) Musically, although the Andrews Sisters prove an ideal choice early on for further establishing the mood
and time-frame of the earthly setting, whatever the hell band it is doing a Euro-techno Portishead imitation as the fantasy
element begins to take over really isn’t doing the production any favours. Directorially, meanwhile, I wasn’t much
convinced by the wonder of the Wardrobe, feeling instead hastened into it by choirs of cooing Soundtrack Angels while
slammed into close-ups of Lucy beaming at every coat and conifer lest for one millisecond I retreat into the security of
doubt. (That roar at the end could have gone, too; pity this wasn't an MGM production.)
I also find it irksome that these British characters say football “field” (instead of “pitch”) and speak of a “sleigh” (instead
of a “sledge”), and am mildly annoyed that malevolent chief police-wolf Fenris Ulf’s name has been changed here to
“Maugrim” or something like this, but these are the sorts of things I tend to notice because most of the other critics are
going to tell you the same things over and over again.
Character-wise, Swinton steals the show, of course -- however among the Pevensie children it is Anna Popplewell as
elder sister Susan who strides off with highest marks. Why? Because she effortlessly breathes humour into the otherwise
stately and sober proceedings. When she delivered the newly-invented line, “He’s a beaver – he shouldn’t be saying
anything!” I laughed right out loud. Thank you.
Speaking of which, a cockney Mr. Beaver (Ray Winstone) and his ever-primping wife Mrs. Beaver (Dawn French) stand
among the finest digital animals in a market increasingly oversaturated with them (I intend to be on vacation next year
when Martin Lawrence and Mr. Demi Moore show up as woodland creatures.) The animals and monsters and effects
here are all delivered with suitably astonishing confidence and creativity -- put this way not just because such effects
giants as ILM, Sony, Rhythm & Hues and WETA were on the case, but because they were guided by the visions of Alan
Lee and John Howe, and a brilliant art department, and entrusted to the master known as Richard Taylor -- who clearly
put in overtime among enormous crews too numerous to list here (even though the show belongs primarily to them). Big
applause; it looks wonderful. It would be interesting to know just how the divisions of power occurred between this
project and the latest King Kong remake, but this is also kind of irrelevant to the point at hand. Mainly, the creativity at
work here is sensational, particularly (no surprise) when we’re dealing with the scarier creatures. Those bugaboos
gathered around the Stone Table are quite stunning, not because they’re dark or demonic, but because they really reveal
freewheeling creativity in action (given that the author never actually described them).
And now, in closing, let us attend to that crucial sacrifice scene, and the religiousness and religiosity attending it. Heck,
it’s Aslan’s crucifixion. And you know what? I don’t like it. I like the movie overall, mind (even though Disney,
remakers of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, seem to be embroiled in a nasty habit of remaking, at great expense,
British franchises already very well delivered on reasonable budgets by the BBC), and for this much wondrous and
fantastic spectacle I am quite happy to make a perfect pig of myself (the dryad alone is worth the price of admission).
And yet this crucifixion and resurrection business -- it simply doesn’t work for me, from Lewis’ narrative onward. If,
for instance, Aslan knows for sure that he will be resurrected in the morning -- BOING! GOOD AS NEW! -- then how
much of a sacrifice is he making, really? A few minutes of taunting and acute agony, then sleep, then up again at dawn,
and that’s it? He could have taken half a dozen Tylenol on the way to the Stone Table. Even in fable, this doesn’t seem
like much of a price to pay for the Salvation of Humanity (even in the allegorical form of Edmund).
Furthermore, I am definitely bothered by Aslan’s extremely thoughtless handling of the Pevensie sisters, who accompany
him almost all the way to his grisly slaughter at the claws of unknown hundreds of murderous monsters. While, yes, he
requires compassionate witnesses in order for his sacrifice to mean anything, does he really believe that leaving Lucy and
Susan a few feet away in the foliage is in any way safe for them? I mean, come on! Devils and demons, goblins and
ghouls, all right there, sure to spot them. They'd have been caught and killed for sure. At least in the book, Aslan has the
decency to tell the children not to be seen, but in the screenplay adaptation he simply tells them where to stop (oddly, in a
spot where they can observe his “passion” perfectly while only the blue gels of the lighting crew -- and not the nearby
ritual fires -- are reflected in their faces). More strangely, although the movie cleaves closely to the events in the book,
the sequence is bled of even more of its drama en route to the sacrificial Table, as Lucy and Susan simply shove their
hands into Aslan’s mane sans permission. This should not be. It is clearly established in the book that Aslan strikes awe
and even fear into people, and although the sisters strongly desire to touch him, it is not until he offers them this sensory
pleasure that they dare finger that fur.
Ultimately, though, this project is definitely a case of filmmakers “getting it right” -- including the allegorical bits -- and if
you love the book it is hard to imagine you not loving the movie, regardless of the ideological prism through which you
view it.
Heck, this may well be a Godless world anyway, if Affleck and Damon have begun reproducing.
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Entertainment Value: 11/13
Style: 11/13
Philosophical Insight: 8/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 9 December, 2005
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