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Friday, August 16, 2019

Stranger Things, Broken Things, & Billy Hargrove


Stranger Things, Season Three
As soon as the release date was announced for the third installment in the Stranger Things series, my siblings and I made plans that we were all coming home for the July 4th holiday and we were going to spend our vacation together binging the newest installment in our latest obsession, complete with Eggos and Reese's Pieces.


Now, if you haven't seen season three yet and want to avoid spoilers, stop reading now. This is your one and final warning. If you haven't seen any Stranger Things and plan to watch it, stop reading. If you don't care, keep reading and I hope you change your mind. 


SPOILER ALERT

The creators of Stranger Things, the Duffer Brothers, are phenomenal writers who know how to craft beautiful, three-dimensional characters and carefully plotted story arcs rooted in the great themes of classical mythology. Much like the hobbits in The Lord of the Rings or the Harry-Ron-Hermione trio of the Harry Potter series, a party of nerdy kids in Hawkins, Indiana remind us of the beauty of friendship, love, courage, and loyalty as they face fearful odds and terrifying monsters. Indeed, to paraphrase G.K. Chesterton, Stranger Things is true not because it tells us that monsters exist, but because it tells us that monsters can be beaten. 

These themes have been central to all three seasons of the show. However, a new theme was given center stage in season three: the theme of redemption as represented in the storyline of Billy Hargrove. 

The theme of redemption isn't new to Stranger Things, as Steve Harrington also undergoes a similar transformation over the course of seasons one and two. However, it can be argued that Steve's choices in season one were motivated primarily by selfishness and immaturity. 

By contrast, the Duffer Brothers characterize Billy as truly malevolent: he bullies his step sister Max and nearly runs over her friends with his car; he is a bigot and a liar; and he attempts to destroy the Wheeler family by trying to seduce the mother, Karen, who is clearly unhappy in her marriage. (Granted, he seems to be motivated more by lust and perhaps boredom than by a desire for revenge. Regardless, he is clearly up to no good.) 

Nevertheless, the writers are careful to maintain the humanity of their new villain. A brief exchange between Billy and his father towards the end of season two indicates that Billy's angry, volatile behavior is the result of verbal, physical, and emotional abuse. While this does not justify his actions, it contextualizes him for the audience.

Billy Hargrove, played by Dacre Montgomery

The Fall

In season three, the Mind Flayer attempts for the second time to assert its dominion over our world. While it cannot yet take physical form, it can use its influence to lure or capture unsuspecting victims and then subject them to its will. Billy is at the wrong place at the wrong time and, in the basement of an abandoned warehouse he becomes the second human victim possessed by the monster. Billy then becomes the primary tool through which the Mind Flayer subtly “recruits” additional human hosts until it amasses an army of what become known as “The Flayed.”

It’s not long before the AV Club of Hawkins Middle School & Co. realize that the Mind Flayer is back, that Billy is under its control, and it is building an army to destroy Eleven, the people of Hawkins, and the world as they know it.

Eleven, as played by Millie Bobby Brown

In Episode 6, Eleven attempts to locate Billy by reaching out to him via the astral plane. She finds herself on a California beach, where she witnesses a tender scene between ten-year-old Billy and his mother. This is followed by a series of pivotal moments over the course of his youth where Eleven observes the devastating impact of an abusive father on the troubled, angry young man she and her friends are trying to save.

Unfortunately, Eleven’s attempt to reach out to Billy compromises her position, and the Mind Flayer tracks her and her friends all the way to Starcourt Mall, where through a mysterious turn of events she is stripped of her supernatural powers. Although her friends attempt to shield her from the clutches of the Mind Flayer, they are no match for the Billy and the monster.

The Resurrection

As Billy presents a battered Eleven to the Mind Flayer, Eleven makes one last attempt to reach out to him. In one of the most beautiful moments in the entire show, she reminds him of his memory of his mother watching him play on the beach. She appeals to the goodness buried within him as represented in his love for his mom. Knowing Billy’s past of terrible suffering and trauma, and simultaneously drawing on her own experience of the loss of her mother, Eleven not only breaks through to him but also inspires him to turn and face the Mind Flayer, buying enough time for Hawkins’ heroes to close the Gate and defeat the monster. This costs Billy his life, and yet Billy Hargrove dies an unlikely hero in one tremendous sacrificial act.

Conclusion

J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote, “A divine ‘punishment’ is also a divine ‘gift,’ if accepted, since its object is ultimate blessing, and the supreme inventiveness of the Creator will make ‘punishments’ (that is changes of design) produce a good not otherwise to be attained.”

This does not mean that Our Lord wills for evil or tragic things to befall us, or that we should desire such things. Rather, it means that God allows in His providence and grace for us to experience suffering in order that a greater good might be brought forth, as the broken body of Christ on Calvary brought forth the redemption of mankind.

The fate of Billy Hargrove serves as a powerful example of this divine phenomenon. If Billy had never been possessed by the Mind Flayer, he may never have had the desire for the good or the courage to become a hero. But his brokenness -- the desperation, loss, and fear that he felt from being possessed by the Mind Flayer -- opened him up to receive Eleven’s reaching out to him. She reawakened in him the memory of his love for his mother, helping him find the courage to stand in the gap and become a hero.

Similarly, it is only when Eleven is broken and stripped of her supernatural gifts that she is able to call Billy on to heroism through the power of empathy and love. If it were not for the loss of her powers, Billy might not have had a chance at redemption.

To quote the Venerable Fulton Sheen, “Broken things are precious. We eat broken bread because we share in the death of Our Lord and His broken life. …A broken ship saved Paul and many other passengers on the way to Rome. Sometimes the only way the good Lord can get into some hearts is to break them.”

A broken Eleven saved Billy, and a broken Billy saved the world.

In the breaking of Billy Hargrove, and the pouring of his lifeblood out upon the floor of Starcourt Mall, there was a gift, and that gift was a resurrection: the saving of Billy’s soul, for no greater love has a man than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

Saturday, July 27, 2019

The Lion King 2019 is the Stuffed Dog We Never Wanted


I am not opposed to the recent Disney trend of live-action re-imaginings of animated films, at least not in theory. There are many old Disney movies that can be and have been improved upon, such as Cinderella, Pete's Dragon, and The Jungle Book. The originals of the aforementioned films are rather mediocre, and so rejuvenating them through new technology and better storytelling was not only enjoyable but also laudable. [Other animated Disney movies that should be remade that would be amazing: Atlantis. Please!]

However, it's much more difficult when you start remaking original Disney films that were smashing successes, such as the 1991 Beauty and the Beast, which was nominated for Best Picture that year, or the 1992 Aladdin, which was the highest grossing film of all time until …

The Lion King.

I loved The Lion King. I still love The Lion King -- the original. And so, I wasn't happy when I found out that one of my top three favorite movies was next in line for the Disney live-action makeover treatment.

That being said, I admit to being pleasantly surprised by Bill Condon’s Beauty and the Beast (2017) remake, which added dimension to some of the characters who felt flat in the original: specifically, the Beast, LeFou, Maurice, and Gaston. We came to know the Beast’s personality and backstory little more, LeFou wasn’t pure slapstick and Maurice was more than a bumbling idiot, and Gaston was truly malevolent. The new songs were well written, and the animation was gorgeous. It wasn’t a perfect movie, but it filled out some of the missing pieces of the original and I have found I still enjoy it after several viewings.

However, The Lion King is a greater movie than Beauty and the Beast. The music is amazing. The animation is breathtaking, both the landscapes and the poignant expressiveness of the animated characters.  The storytelling is tight -- you can almost conduct the dialogue, the music, and the cinematography as it flows seamlessly from the savannah to the jungle to the perilous gorge. The emotional journey cuts right to the quick of the need for the individual to nobly shoulder their responsibilities in spite of wickedness and tragedy, in contrast to the bitter resentment of Scar and the hyenas, or the nihilistic "Hakuna Matata" lifestyle of Pumba and Timon which, while catchy, leads to boredom, emptiness, and despair.

In short, it would be extremely difficult to find things in the original that could be improved upon, unless the film chose to go in a different direction that did NOT include a shot-for-shot, line-for-line homage to the original. However, Disney chose to do the latter.

The live-action Lion King taught me three things about the original film:

1. Realism in this case meant sacrificing the emotional impact. The anthropomorphic expressivity of the animated characters is a significant component to the emotional drive of the original story: Baby Simba’s adorable pouting, his large yellow eyes welling up with tears, Scar’s menacing sneer, Mufasa’s noble brows, Rafiki’s maniacal jests – all of these are lost to realism. As I was watching the live-action version this past weekend, many of the lines which were supposed to pack a punch felt flat because of the lack of emotion in the “live-action” characters’ facial expressions.

The Lion King, 2019.

2. Timing is everything. A friend of mine and a fellow musician once told me that a good movie should feel like you are conducting an orchestra. There are natural cadences, moments were the action and the music surge forward and then pull back.
This is harder to describe in words, but as a musician I felt as though the timing felt off for many of the lines and even the pacing of some of the scenes. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been as noticeable if we weren’t comparing it to the original film even if only in our subconscious. But here we find ourselves.

The Lion King, 1994.

3. The live-action film adaptation had to narrow its scope, especially during the musical numbers. Delightful sequences from “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” lose some their charm as the vivid background patterns (inspired by African color palates and designs) are omitted because of the naturalistic look. Similarly, time lapse sequences from “Hakuna Matata” where the characters meander through the jungle, jumping into lagoons and sauntering across giant water falls in the moonlight are reduced to three realistic animals trotting through the jungle and singing, which is acceptable but nowhere near as imaginative or exciting.

Very often in new technological advances, there is something that must be sacrificed for the sake of these new developments. One good artistic example of this can be found in the development of violin strings. Originally made entirely of sheep/lamb gut (termed “catgut”), gradually metal and gut were combined, and then gut was supplanted by metal altogether in the early 20th century. While metal strings were more durable and produced a louder sound, they cannot achieve the same colors and tonal qualities of gut strings, making the latter more desirable to students and performers of earlier styles of music such as J.S. Bach. Similarly, the realism of the new adaptation of The Lion King sacrifices the emotional journey and the imaginative scope of the original for realism.

During my freshman year of college, my English Professor told us a story about a parent who, upon the death of the family dog, had the animal stuffed by a taxidermist to comfort his distraught child. Naturally, the experiment was rejected because certain things cannot be manufactured in a lab or a studio: relationship, love, nostalgia. Similarly, Disney’s live-action Lion King is the stuffed version of your pet dog that you never wanted in the first place. The movie may be interesting for the first fifteen minutes, but the viewer quickly realizes that the heart is missing and becomes bored.