Sacrifice and Salvation in The Chronicles of Narnia and Pan's Labyrinth

Religion is a central theme to both Pan's Labyrinth and The Chronicles of Narnia (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe). With respect to the latter, C.S. Lewis stated that one of his motives for writing the Narnia series is to instill Christian ideology in the minds of young readers. This ideology is projected through the character of Aslan, the King of Narnia. Aslan, though a benevolent ruler, is, nevertheless, "not a tame lion." Besides being valiant, he also reveals his gentler side. The children immediately take to Aslan, obeying his commands while trusting his judgements. Aslan comes to their aid in times of trouble and allows the children's own natures to flourish. Under Aslan's guidance, the children have a chance to test their own faith and bravery, win the favor of the Narnians, and finally rule as Kings and Queens of Narnia. By his ability to create the land of Narnia, enable animals to speak, and act as a guarding for the children, Aslan functions as God. This God is distinctly Christian in that Aslan resembles a Christ-like figure, especially when he sacrifices his life to save the life on another, and thus, save all of Narnia. When the White Witch demands the Narnians to turn in Edmund, the erring Pevensie sibling, for having made false promises to her, Aslan makes a pact with the White Witch to go in Edmund's stead. The White Witch, who is all the more eager to destroy Aslan, immediately agrees since she also fears Aslan's powers. Both Susan and Lucy stare in horror as Aslan is tortured, humiliated, and brutally murdered by the White Witch and her accomplices. However, just as the children mourn for his loss, a miracle happens and Aslan comes back to life. In other words, he is resurrected. He explains to the children that he is able to come back to life because he was innocent to begin with, and had given his life to protect the life of another (in this case, Edmund, whose own innocence he believed in). Aslan asserts that the White Witch, oblivious to the power of love and sacrfice, could weave no spell that could destroy him. Thus, Aslan returns to life and helps to save Narnia.

This notion of Christian sacrifice is also hightlighted in Pan's Labyrinth. Unlike in The Chronicles of Narnia, however, a 12 year old girl functions as a Christ-like figure in this film. She seems to be everything Aslan is not, for she is not male, mature, or strong. Ofelia is thin, wan, neglected, lonely, dreamy, and sensitive. Everything one would not expect in a typical hero. But despite that, she finds the Labyrinth and sets out on a journey to eventually find peace. In the process, she proves her bravery and wisdom. Furthermore, she asserts her belief in faith: she believes in the goodness of Pan's words; she believes in order and harmony; she believes in love and beauty; she believes that goodness will prevail over evil. Like Christ (and Adam), she shows that she too can succumb to temptation. She eats the "forbidden fruit", but later, given the chance to repent for her sins, realizes the extent of her folly and is more zealous in her "faith" (in heeding Pan's words in this case). Although her faith is tested several times, the crucial act occurs towards the end of her journey, when Pan asks her to surrender her new-born baby brother. At this moment, Ofelia finds herself within inches away from attaining her dream. Pan tells her that if she were to obey him, she would no longer suffer under the commands of Vidal's dictatorship, for she would then be transported to her magical kingdom where there would be only peace. Despite the temptations associated with this offer, Ofelia refuses to hand over her baby brother on account of her love for him. She could not bear to have his blood shed in order to attain her dream. She was prepared to save his life rather than her own. Ofelia's sacrifice at the end of the film allows her to transcend the world of mortals. Pan reveals to her that she is the rightful Princess because she distinguished herself through the noblity of her actions, especially with regard to the sacrifice. She cared deeply for the baby and it was vital that a true Princess knew what it was to love another, to give your life to save another's. In the end, we see that Ofelia too is resurrected: she returns to life and is said to have had a peaceful reign for many, many years, adding beauty and love to the world of mortals.

Through the use of Christian imagery, both The Chronicles of Narnia and Pan's Labyrinth show the importance of sacrifice as a means of salvation, teaching the children and other viewers alike that the concept of sacrifice is central to Faith, and that the sincerity of love is what will sustain us in the end. However, it is worth noting that in both these films, strict adherence to Scripture is not maintained. Both these films make use of fantasy. In both, Christianity coexists with something fantastical, primitive, almost Pagan. The world of Narnia is filled with other creatures from mythology, and so is the world of Pan's Labyrinth. Thus, both films show that sacrifice is not only a central element to Christianity, but that it is vital to all types of religions, both the modern and primitive. Furthermore, both films show that it is indeed possible to mix the Pagan and the Christian.

Review of Pan's Labyrinth

Last Tuesday, I had a chance to see the critically acclaimed film Pan's Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) directed by Mexican director Guillermo Del Torro.

It is truly one of the most captivating films I have ever seen. Everything about it--from the plot, the special effects, the themes, the acting--contributes to making this film a masterpiece. Out of all this, I think its strength lies in its use of the fairy tale that is at the core of the film. This isn't the first time that the fairy tale motif is used in the medium of film or literature to translate historical facts or explain psychic phenomena. The use of the fairy tale in Pan's Labyrinth enables this film to speak to a variety of audiences, and consequently, allow it to transcend all sorts of classification. In this sense, Pan's Labyrinth rises above the generic, the ordinary. It is neither a children's film nor one exclusively intended for adults. Similarly, there is no restriction in terms of setting: there is a significant time-span: the story of the princess in the underground is ancient, but Ofelia lives in 1944, traversing different time-periods by means of her imagination. While it can fall in the real of science fiction/ fantasy, it also has elements of horror and drama. This is a film, very much like Whale Rider, where fact and fiction commingle seamlessly, where we are what we dream, where strength lies in Imagination.

Pan's Labyrinth is a story about a lonely 12 year-old girl, Ofelia, who goes to live with her pregnant mother and new stepfather in the Spanish country side during 1944. The Spanish Civil-War has just ended and her stepfather, Captain Vidal, is assigned the task of getting ride of an anarchist militia that lurks in the woods surrounding his residence. Ofelia is a very imaginative girl, finding solace in the company of books of fairy tales that she brings with her. One particularly speaks of the legend of a lost princess, who ventured from the peace of the underworld, where she knew no pain, death or disease, to the world of the mortals above ground, eventually forgetting her past and with it, her legacy. The legend predicts that the lost princess will one day return to her Palace, reclaim her identity, and bring freedom and beauty in the world.

It is interesting to note that Ofelia's adventures in the magical realm mirrors the external political conflict taking place around her. As Ofelia finds herself trapped under Captain Vidal's orders, she tries to rebel and so approaches the magical Labyrinth secretly, when no one sees her. As the militia gains power, through the help of the doctor and Mercedes, Ofelia gains more entrance into her magical world. The militia is in fact, fed and nourished, just as Ofelia destroys a horrible toad that was sapping nutrition from the Tree at the center of the Labyrinth. When Ofelia fails her second test, as when she eats the fruit belonging to the Pale Man, she releases a Monster into both her magical world as well as the real world. Captain Vidal gains power this time, capturing the rebel soldiers and torturing them. Concurrently, her mother is weakened by her preganancy, on the verge of losing the baby that sustains her relationship with her dictator husband. When Ofelia is eager to perform the last task and win the Faun's favor, the rebel militia are freed and rises in power. As Ofelia's prophesy is fulfilled, Vidal's regime crumbles and freedom is finally won.

Another instance this film is unique is that it enables women to be agents of Freedom. While the legend spoke of a lost princess who will one day return to restore peace to her kingdom, Ofelia, acts out the princess's valiant deeds. She bravely sets out to perform the tasks the Faun asks of her. As the film progresses, Mercedes, Vidal's housekeeper, also rises in importance. It becomes clear that Mercedes risks her own life and helps her brother and his friends who are in the anarchist militia, despite living under Vidal's roof.

The link between Mercedes and Ofelia is made earlier in the film when Mercedes comforts the friendless, neglected young girl, by offering her comfort and a willing ear. Both Ofelia and Mercedes have poor mother-figures as examples of strength. In Ofelia's case, her mother is weak and sick with a pregnancy, abused her by husband who desires the baby more than his wife. While we know nothing of Mercedes' mother, we do know that she has been greatly influenced by her brother, a rebel fighting for freedom. Ofelia and Mercedes also both rebel, striving to attain freedom: Ofelia tries to return to her fantasy kingdom, and Mercedes wants to stand by her brother's cause, one in which Vidal and his cruel dictatorship is overthrown and freedom and equality will be restored to the people.

Mercedes says, when Vidal confronts her about her ability to carry out espionage under his own eyes, that the reason she was able to get away with her actions was because she, being a woman, is considered invisible. Mercedes asserts that invisibility becomes a source of power for a woman. She need no longer hide behind the shadows, but can use her strength of mind and body to her advantage. Similarly, Ofelia looks timid and lanky on the outside, but is immensely courageous on the inside. In her invisibility, the loneliness that thrust her into the folds of invisibility, Ofelia was able to fill her mind with stories, and being naturally curious as well as neglected, she was able to explore her world and find the Faun, thus being mistress of her own Fantasy story.

Del Torro shows that political freedom is attained alongside freedom of the imagination. When Ofelia's fantasy world is given full reign, only then is Vidal destroyed. Del Torro's stance on women is given most weight at the end of the film, when he links Ofelia to a Christ-like figure. Ofelia, an innocent, virtuous young girl, sacrifices her life in order to save an innocent, and thus, liberate humanity, after defeating evil. By elevating Ofelia to Christ's status, Del Torro's subversive act questions the precepts of religion, Christianity, resurrection, and gender roles.

Along with its thematic elements, stunning visual effects and dedication to the Art of Storytelling Pan's Labyrinth reminds us that belief in the Imagination is vital to the triumph of the human consciousness.

Review of Polly Teale's Brontë

I've had a chance to see a production of Polly Teale's renowned play and here are some thoughts:

The play seemed to be a sort of biopic, chronicling the lives of the Brontë siblings from childhood through adulthood. Unlike other versions in this genre, however, Polly Teale's take is an intermingling of fact and fiction, reality and fantasy. The play is as much a celebration of the sisters' lives as it is of Brontë criticism, for we get multiple interpretations fused together in this version.

All the actors performed well, delivering their lines with ease. There was also an amusing portrayal of Arthur Bell Nichols as a moony-eyed simpleton (minus the sideburns). With the exception of Anne's characterization, the others were more like their respective stereotypes: Emily was often reserved and rather contemplative, Charlotte seemed bossy and ambitious, Patrick cold and distant, Branwell reckless and weak. Anne, however, was quite bubbly and headstrong. She wasn't portrayed here as someone meek and shy as so many biographies have affirmed, including the biopic The Brontës of Haworth.

What I didn't like about the acting, however, was the over-emphasis on an Irish accent. As it happened to be American actors who performed all the Brontë sisters' roles, the Irish accent came off as a strained imitation, rather than something natural. It is even doubtful that that Brontës' accent, even if it had had an Irish ring to it, would have been as sharp as what it was shown to be here.

With regard to setting, it consisted of a large room with a fireplace on the right, which was near the door. On the left, hanging on the upper portion of the wall was a mirror that reflected the scenes taking place directly beneath. Hinged to the back of the room (facing the audience) were three chests. And finally, in the center of the room were two tables. The first large table was complemented by three chairs and a second lone, smaller table was accompanied by a single chair. There were books and papers strewn all over the tables and near the fireplace, signifying their importance in the Brontës' lives. Teale's using the drawing room, or writing room rather, as the center in which the play unfolds, is an indication of the most crucial aspect of the Brontës lives and works: they are, first and foremost, writers in every sense of the word, and thus, it is only fair that the drawing room remains as the setting for the whole length of the play.

The setting serves as a microcosm of the sisters' inner minds. During the play, the Brontës' characters seamlessly weave in and out of the stage at opportune moments. Just as events take place in the sisters' lives, their characters also have roles within the play, at the same time. For example, as Emily thinks of a story, Catherine Linton enters the stage, armed with a pillow and dressed in a white lacy nightdress. As Branwell cries out his grief over losing Mrs. Robinson, we see Bertha writhing on the floor, her mop of hair shielding her face, giving her an almost animal-like appearance. We, the audience, see the characters on stage as if they were elements of the sisters' own psyche.

Since I am quite familiar with Bronte biographies and criticism, I found many such interpretations of them in this play. However, what I found rather exceptional was the portrayal of the "other woman". In this play, Bertha and Catherine are played by the same actress. The former is scantily clad, with a marked corset revealing a voluptous frame, and a ruffled skirt over which lay remnants of a red, tattered apron. Bertha's hair was untidy and coarse, serving as a reminder of the "unmanageable" nature of her character. Futher, her movements are both ferocioulsy sexual and instinctively animal-like. On the other hand, Catherine Linton appears with her hair tied together in a neat braid, wearing a nightdress of virginal white, her voice soft and melancholy. By having the same actress portray both women--Bertha the madwoman, and an almost angelic, soulful, Catherine, Teale confirms the existance of a split personality for women, a fact prominent in nineteenth-century literature, famously postulated in Gilbert and Gubar's The Madwoman in the Attic.

Another woman who takes center stage in the Brontës' lives, especiall Branwell's, is Mrs. Robinson, who ironically does not appear on stage, although she is acted out by both Bertha and Catherine. When Branwell refers to Mrs. Robinson, he stresses her passionate nature, her over-indulgence of feelings, the rawness of her emotions. Just as talks of her, we see Bertha alongside him, her motions highly eroticized. On the other hand, when Catherine Linton speaks of an unhappy marriage, being unable to relate to her husband but yearning to unite with her former love, this is not unlike Mrs. Robionson, who is also a married woman, and whose plight, as it becomes clear, rouses us just as Catherine's does. By aligning Mrs. Robinson with Bertha, who is aligned with Catherine, we see that all those three women are connected: they could be one and the same. Despite Mrs. Robionson's not appearing on the stage, we know that she is in fact there the whole time. Though invisible, she is never absent, a situation that resembles the power of the Brontës to transcend obscurity.

I admire Polly Teale for unearthing some controversial issues that deserve to be examined. By having a drunken, livid Branwell attack Charlotte in an abusive manner, Teale asks us to consider the ill-effects of domestic abuse which was a difficult issue in the Victorian era more than in our present time. Moreover, Branwell's manner of clutching Charlotte, groping parts of her body, strangling and flinging her violently as the other sisters watch in shock and powerlessness, is not far from sexual abuse, hinting the possibility that such an act is not uncommon in middle-class Victorian households such as the Brontës', despite the latter's unwillingness to acknowledge it. In this way, Teale also brings to our consciousness the possibility of incest, which could also explain the siblings' neuroses, especially Branwell's.

Teale's treatement of Charlotte also hinges on turning her into quite an unlikeable person. Fiercely ambitious, repeatedly Charlotte says that she wants to be famous, that she wants to be "forever known". This obsession makes her increasingly dissatisfied with Branwell's failure and his squandering the favors his father has bestowed on him. As Emily defends Branwell, this only makes Charlotte get into rows with her sister. The Charlotte in this play is short-tempered, prone to flights of rage. She can be quite bossy and jealous about her sisters' works, especially Emily's. The play suggests that after Emily's death, it was Charlotte who burned all her letters as well as Emily's second novel that was nearing completion, if not already complete by the time of her death.

Besides focusing on the Brontës' lives as writers, its innovations in stage setting and characterization, its ability to provoke the minds of the viewers and challenge commonly held notions of the Brontes and the Victorians, Polly Teale's Brontë is a play that intrigues and captivates, adding new twists that will appeal to any one--whether you are a Brontë aficionado, or don't have the faintest idea of them beyond English class.


*NB: The picture above is not from the production I saw. Though it is an image taken from another production, this scene closes the play.