Film Analysis #4 - The Iron Giant

As hinted by the “duck and cover” cartoon playing in the background of Hogarth’s class, the world of The Iron Giant is tinted with a severe fear of technology. The Cold-War concerns here equate machinery with violence and destruction and little else. Kent Mansley makes constant harmful decisions based on this assumption—that the Iron Giant can’t possibly mean anything outside of destruction (most likely from Russia).  The film goes on to argue that technology, like Hogarth himself, is what we choose it to be.  

Hogarth’s innocence is initially what drives the idea of technology being used for good. When he and the giant first become friends, the Giant starts to eat railroad tracks. Inevitably, a train comes along. Hogarth instructs the Giant to rebuild the railroad—which doesn’t turn out so well, but it starts a pattern of the Giant working to repair and build rather than destruct. When the Giant is hit by the train, he can rebuild himself as well. Hogarth also uses the Giant for fun games, transportation, and basically an amusement park ride. Hogarth is the one who, through his childlike innocence, retrains the Giant to build rather than destroy.

Dean and his art also speak of how technology can be used for good. Dean makes art out of the scrap metal he has in the yard—repurposing technology to make something beautiful. When the Giant stays in the junkyard, Dean has him help create enormous pieces of art. Later on, they are able to use the art as a guise for hiding the giant. Additionally, it’s Dean’s art that first brings Annie and Dean together.

Obviously, the outer struggle between Kent Mansley and the Giant is the most obvious conflict between technology and destruction. When Mansley first hears about the giant, he is convinced that the giant must be from the USSR. When the Giant takes a bite out of his car, he assumes that there is a monster around, and does not see that it’s actually quite an innocent act—the Giant was hungry! When Mansley reports the Giant to the general, he overblows the situation as he assumes that the Giant will inevitably lead to huge destruction. When the military comes, they start attacking and cause much more destruction than the Giant ever has. Mansley even goes as far as insist that they destroy the Giant with a nuclear bomb. Even when the Giant is saved by Hogarth and is able to return back to his kind state, Mansley has already set off the bomb and there’s no stopping it. It’s up to the giant to save everything.

Overall, the theme of this movie can be summed up by the Giant’s inner struggle between what he is programmed to be and what he wants to be. In the end, he chooses to be the Superman. This movie critiques the way that many treat technology. The film suggests that even when it’s the status quo to use technology and assume that destruction is inevitable, we can use it to rebuild and create good relationships.

Book Analysis #4 - Danny the Champion of the World

At the very end of the book is a little inscription by Dahl: “A message to the children who have read this book: When you grow up and have children of your own, do please remember something important. A Stodgy parent is not fun at all! What a child wants—and DESERVES—is a parent who is SPARKY!” Reading the book as an adult, this statement and many of the events in the book may appear problematic—after all, their poaching is breaking the law and they really shouldn’t buy an oven if they can’t afford it. However, this is really the charm and the importance of it. Overall, the book explores the change in the parent-child relationship, normalizing the realization that parents are imperfect by delighting in the imperfection.  

Danny’s journey really begins when he finds out about his father’s secret habit—poaching: “Grown ups are complicated creatures, full of quirks and secrets…all of them, including one’s own parents, have two or three private habits hidden up their sleeves that would probably make you gasp if you knew about them.” At first, Danny can’t believe that his father would engage in something so dangerous—and so illegal! While Danny’s father has more noble, Robin Hood-esque motivations, that does not change the fact that it is wrong on some level. Danny, not his father, is the one who is most aware of the dangers and consequences such a habit could mean. Dahl’s treatment of Father’s poaching habit is fascinating, because he does not shy away from depicting how unhealthy it is. Descriptions of Danny’s father when poaching always include an emphasis on how his eyes widen and he grows more and more excited, almost indicative of addiction. Danny’s father is restless when poaching, and does not fully consider the risks that Danny points out to him.

For a while, this leads to a reversal in the father-son relationship. When his father gets trapped in the pit, it is Danny who drives out and saves him, and then who takes care of him as he recovers. For a while, Danny is very wary of his father’s recklessness, and sees a noticeable change as his father confides to him about his dreams of getting back at Mr. Hazell.

The latter half of the book, however, normalizes Danny’s realization that his father isn’t perfect. As he and his father work together in their scheme to ruin Mr. Hazell’s hunting party, they develop a new kind of relationship—a friendship, rather than a parent-child relationship. There is an interchange of ideas and their plan is a result of friend-to-friend collaboration. Because of his father’s secret habit, Danny is able to have a closer relationship with him than they ever did before.

At the beginning of the book, Danny describes his relationship with his father in the way any typical lucky kid would—his father reads him books, walks him to school, and teaches him things. However, at the end their relationship is much more collaborative—and the end of the book Danny and his father discuss dinner plans and how they need to get more silverware. Overall, this progression depicts that although Danny has realized a shocking thing about his father, those shocking realizations can bring them closer together. It is his father’s imperfection that makes him “the most marvelous and exciting father any boy ever had.”

Online Response #8

The word critique holds a lot of weight to it—most people simply read the word as “criticize.” Some reviewers get lazy and do just that, and unsupported arguments run rampant. In the case of children’s media, the idea of critique can have these same negative connotations. Parents undoubtedly get nervous about their children getting indoctrinated with all sorts of dangerous or extreme ideas—or ideas that don’t match their own opinions. This is why Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is such a successful movie—rather than pushing a certain agenda, it plays with ideas. I have a very distinct memory of watching this film for the first time. My brother introduced it to me, and I was around 8 or 9. Before we started, he told me that his favorite part of the movie is that there isn’t a bad guy. As a kid, I found this disconcerting, and honestly I didn’t believe him. When I watched the movie I was very surprised to find out that the film holds sympathies for every group and opinion. Don’t get me wrong—it does have a point of view. However, the characters and issues represented are three dimensional and shown with a humanity that makes these issues as complicated as they deserve.

            This humanity is primarily shown through the two main female characters—who, by the way, are awesome female characters who are powerful, smart leaders without sacrificing their femininity. Nausicaa, as our protagonist, has the majority of the screen time and her hopes and dreams are the ones we are all rooting for. However, she is not entirely without blame. Nausicaa’s sympathies for the insects cause problems for her very consistently. Her flashbacks depict memories of harboring a tiny Ohm, make this love of the bugs very complicated. As the audience has seen by this point, this Ohm could bring toxins into the valley and also destroy the village. Overall, she is young and makes lots of mistakes along the way.

            Princess Kushana, the leader of the Tolmekian army, is perhaps the most fascinating character, and makes the critique in Nausicaa as three dimensional as it is. The Tolmekians are incredibly destructive, and if there has to be a bad guy, they are it. Initially Kushana seems destructive and terrifying, but quickly the story creates sympathy for her. She, like Nausicaa, is trying to be a good leader. Additionally, the fact that her body has been destroyed because of the insects makes her blood thirst for them very sympathetic. Lastly, she and Nausicaa have some sisterly respect for each other that makes their relationship very dynamic.

            As discussed in class, Henry Jenkins said that “children use their play to explore the social structures that surround them.” The humanistic way the characters in Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind a good example for children to questions their social structures and look at their antagonists in a new light.

Film Analysis 3: Rabbit-Proof Fence

 The premise of Rabbit-Proof Fence is similar to so many children’s stories—a child is separated from their parents and must return home. Peter Pan, The Little Princess, and in ways even Harry Potter follows this trajectory—but Rabbit-Proof Fence very quickly leaves familiarity for white, western children. The realities of the story are harsh and told with a sad sense of honesty that is unique among so many stories focused on children. While the political diversity of this story is painfully clear—Molly and her sisters, as mixed-race children, are property of the government and so horridly treated—the cultural diversity of the story is what really makes it interesting. The language, sound, pacing, and narrative arc all give insight into the aboriginal culture that Molly is torn from.

            First, the use of language in the story is very different than the use of language in many western films. At the beginning, when Molly is narrating the story, her use of language is rich as she speaks in her native tongue. The language is beautiful and the characters are chatty and pleasant, and so the audience gets to hear a lot of it. However, when Molly and her sisters are taken away from their mother the film hardly uses any dialogue from that point forward. When the girls try to speak their language at the camp, they are swiftly punished. For the remainder of the film, they speak English—but only when necessary. Language ceases to become a narrative tool once the girls cannot use their native tongue.

            The sound of the film is very unique and becomes more narratively important than the language. When the daughters are taken from their mothers the audience is left with the mothers for a long time, listening to the sound of their grieving wails. These wails blend into the sound of the soundtrack. The soundtrack features aboriginal instruments such as drums and didgeridoo and incorporates electronic sounds to echo the cries and wails of the daughters and their mothers.  The other sounds in the films make the setting come alive—bird calls, the sound of walking on rocks and dirt, the wind, and the water are all louder than normal to take the place of the lack of dialogue.

            Lastly, the pacing and narrative arc of the story comes out of the culture of the people. As said before, dialogue does not drive the story at all. The goal is clear and pursued with a diligence and lack of play that is uncharacteristic for children. The pacing is much like their walking—patient, but constantly aware of danger lurking. Additionally, none of what these children achieve could be done by many others. Molly’s ability to live off the land and her knowledge of tracking are the few things that keep these girls safe. Perhaps the most harrowing part of the story, however, is that there is no happy ending. While Molly and her sister get back to their mother and grandmother, it is tinged with the sadness of the girl they lost along the way. On top of that, we soon learn that Molly was later taken back to the camp, and that her daughters were taken from her as well. This little slice of heritage is indicative of a larger problem, and does not wrap itself up in the comfortable way many children are used to.

            Overall, the story of Rabbit-Proof Fence gives insight into the culture and heritage of the aboriginal people in Australia. Though it can be painful to watch, the fact that this story is so different both narratively and aesthetically makes the audience more aware and more sympathetic of the political difficulties portrayed in the film.

Book Analysis 3: Winnie-the-Pooh

Back home in Idaho in the garage under a few boxes, inside a Rubbermaid bin, under  clothes and drawings and Polly Pockets and blankets is a little stuffed bear—A Pooh Bear, in fact. He’s not yellow anymore, but more of a dirty mustard, and he’s way skinnier than any respectable Winnie the Pooh should be. His nose is flat and any signs of tags are completely gone. To me and my family he’s a precious bit of fluff, a friend who probably has seen more important moments of my life than any other object. Revisiting Winnie-the-Pooh as an adult was a delightful experience that is seeped in hunny-flavored nostalgia. The structure and nature of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories depicts the interplay of the child who is desperate for new life experience and the adult who longs for a simpler life an a familiar home.

            When we first meet Winnie-the-Pooh the first question to be answered, quite logically, is his name. The narrator, as most adults might be, is confused by Edward Bear being called “Winnie-the-Pooh.”

            “But I thought he was a boy?”
            “So did I,” said Christopher Robin.
            “Then you don’t call him Winnie?”
            “I don’t.”
            “But you said—“
            “He’s Winnie-ther-Pooh. Don’t you know what ‘ther’ means?”

In the book, Christopher Robin is always set up to be the most knowing character, and in many ways acts like the adult throughout the stories. Christopher Robin is desperate to have some sort of experience or memories under his belt so that he can contribute to the conversations. In the exchange of dialogue above, he takes the lead and patronizes the narrator for his perceived ignorance of the situation. Later, after he asks what it means to live under the name, he pretends that Winnie-the-Pooh had the question, not him. Christopher Robin and he narrator both “know” that Christopher Robin knows all of these stories already—they are supposed to be memories—it’s just that he forgets sometimes. In the stories, Christopher Robin is the leader and the explainer. For example, when Winnie-the-Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit’s hole, Christopher Robin knows that Pooh must not eat for a week or so, and then he will be thin enough to wriggle out.

            On the other hand, the narrator is set up to be more childish. When we first start on the stories, Christopher Robin has to give detailed instructions in order for things to go smoothly:

            “Could you very sweetly tell Winnie-the Pooh [a story]?”
            “I suppose I could,” I said, “What sort of stores does he like?”
            “About himself. Because he’s that sort of Bear.”
            “Oh, I see.”
            “So could you very sweetly?”
            “I’ll try,” I said.
            So I tried.

In this case, the narrator often has to take the hat of student while Christopher Robin reminds him of how to play. Additionally, while Christopher Robin seems to take a certain glee in correcting the narrator and being the “adult” figure in the stories, the narrator takes glee in making the stories as nonsensical as possible, even though he most definitely knows better. For example, when they go on the expedition, the north pole ends up being a literal pole that Winnie-the-Pooh finds.

            The whole story flips the relationship between adult and child and allows the adult to enter back into a nostalgic world of play while the child gets to play at adulthood. The whole story, rather than being told from the perspective of a child, is from the perspective of an adult, and consequently serves not the child’s needs but the adult’s needs for a little bit of nonsense and a whole lot of simplicity. The narrative structure lets the adult leave their world and go back home to the world of childhood.