there are literally so many reasons why we don't need a third Narnia adaptation
first of all, while they might not be the most accurate, the Disney movies are actually so good and, in my opinion, still manage to capture the heart and soul of the series and what it's truly about. The characters are each perfectly portrayed; the Pevensies act like actual siblings and yet love each other dearly and would die for each other even through all the petty arguments; the music creates perfect atmosphere and emotion and never fails to make me tear up or get shivers down my spine; and the CGI is honestly just absolutely stunning.
I really do not feel like we need another adaptation by Netflix.
Especially not through Netflix.
Netflix has already been known to mess up so many shows and movies by completely changing the source material or adding in unnecessary things that completely take away from the purpose of the story. I can already see them warping Narnia into something that barely even resembles the books, that strips it of its purpose and simply makes it about a fantasy world, nothing more. I've already seen posts saying that the new movies just can't end the way the books end, that heaven must be explained away, that Susan never forgets and falls down a dark path, that the faith aspect must be taken out so as not to offend new viewers.
Here's the thing.
If you take faith out of Narnia, you remove the very heart of the series. you remove the entire purpose. Because Narnia is entirely about faith, and trust, and Someone greater than yourself who sacrifices everything to save your own traitorous soul. the Disney movies did not shy away from portraying this faith as openly as possible. if anyone was offended, I've never seen proof. I have seen many nonbelievers talk about how much they were affected by Aslan's death, which goes to show that you simply don't have to be Christian to understand what Narnia is about, and to love and enjoy it.
So if these new remakes remove the faith aspect, then what is the point? four siblings go to a magical land and save it from a witch and befriend a talking lion with nothing special about him and live there as kings and queens and return home and live happily ever after? there is no sacrifice, there is no "he's not tame, but he is good," there is no creation, there is no redemption, there is no last battle, there is no "in your world, I have another name", there is no sister straying down a dark path because she has forgotten how to hope, and then returning because her story is unfinished and the road to heaven is paved with flowers that symbolize her name.
so then, what are you left with? Aslan is just a talking lion, nothing more. the stone table never cracks, the sun never rises. "That by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there" is forgotten entirely, because why would Aslan exist in our world if he is merely a talking lion in Narnia? Aslan's country is changed to be something else, and there is nothing about how Aslan suddenly no longer looks like a lion, and how the things that happened after are more great and beautiful than can be described. Edmund's life is never threatened because of his traitorous deeds; Aslan never offers his own life in place of a guilty boy, is never killed, is never resurrected.
the very core of Narnia is removed, and what you are left with is emptiness.
sure, it might make for a good fantasy story nonetheless. you might still have sweeping views and epic music and an intriguing plotline, but something will always feel like it is missing. like there is an empty hole, desperately needing to be filled.
of course, I don't know that all of that will happen; it's just speculation at this point. But I am fairly sure that it is safe to predict these upcoming movies as such. I highly doubt the producers will want to include the faith that shapes Narnia, because according to them, having a faith aspect means less viewers since too many people would be offended.
but if only they would look at the already wonderful existing adaptations, they would know that is simply not the case.
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On Peter and Violence
I think there’s two popular fanon camps regarding Peter Pevensie’s relationship with violence, and though there are certainly plenty of others who, like me, would disagree with both of them, it is those two versions of Peter that I keep seeing pop up again and again.
The first is that of the powerful, raging, warrior king: the version of Peter that speaks more to his mythologized persona within the books than the Peter we actually witness and interact with inside the narrative. His temper is hot, and his sword is fast, and his legacy is soaked in blood. It’s this Peter that lends itself so readily to the (equally fanon) idea that Edmund is the more diplomatic of the two.
The second is that of the pacifist. This idea of Peter is opposed to violence, and only fights under great duress, or because he has been given no other choice; it’s the version of his character that people have snatched from a deleted scene in the “Prince Caspian” film in which he claims he is “thinking about a career in medicine,” and in doing so, distances himself from the war back home. (Although, I would also blame the PC film for the angry, impulsive version of Peter who dominates too much of the fandom; that movie’s interpretation of him is a tragedy.)
Now, of the two, I would prefer the second. It’s at least marginally truer to the boy who “didn’t feel very brave” but did his duty in “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” and I appreciate that. However, I also have a personal vendetta against the extreme version of this viewpoint which prioritizes Peter’s peaceful nature over his dutiful courage, and this is why I’m writing out what I believe are the nuances of his character that sometimes get overlooked in favour of idolizing either his strength or his softness.
There is a statement in my mind to describe him that I avoid using, because I know it requires more context than I usually want to give, but here and now, we’ll call it my thesis: Peter prefers problems he can hit.
I don’t think Peter is a violent character. Genuinely, I don’t. And so I imagine those two statements seem pretty contradictory, because how can he not be violent, if violence is also the ideal solution to his problems?
Well, here’s the thing: Peter’s growing up in a war. Heck, he’s growing up in two.
He’s thirteen in the first book, and World War II is breaking out above him, and, more than that, there is nothing he can do about it. What could he do? He’s a kid.
And then, suddenly, he’s in a new world. They tell him he’s meant to be there. They give him a sword, and he takes it silently. They tell him he will be king.
We see him in his fight with the wolf: “Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. But that made no difference to what he had to do.” We are told there that violence is not something he takes to lightly; it is a matter of duty for him: to the country that stands behind him, and his sister who is in harm’s way.
He fights a battle. Years pass, and he fights more. He returns to the war he is powerless to fight against, and then finds himself King again, where he comes up with a plan to fight a duel which -- if everything had gone to plan -- would have put no one but himself at risk.
Yes, Peter is steeped in violence. C. S. Lewis tells us at the end of “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” that he is a “great warrior,” and when he is mentioned in “The Horse and His Boy,” it is said he’s off battling giants. He is High King, and as such, he has to be a soldier. He chooses to be a soldier. He consistently fights, especially so that others may not have to. He fights to protect. To shield. To provide freedom.
And then he goes back home, and is trapped under war again.
Depending on his birthday, Peter turns eighteen around the time of the end of World War II, meaning I have no reason to believe he ever fought within it; however, National Service continued after the war. And this is where I thought that Peter, ever being driven by duty, would sign up without question. It’s what would be expected of him. And, even more, it’s what he’s been doing for years for a country that isn’t his anymore; how could he not do the same for England?
(I put that in a fic. I had a scene where Peter, freshly eighteen, confessed to Susan he would still have to serve, and Susan said, “But not in the war, and I’m glad of that.” And then -- because it was what Peter did within canon time and time again -- I had him tell her, “But I hope you understand that I’d fight for you. For all of you. If my fighting had any chance of helping to keep you all safe, I would go.” ......And somebody told me that was out of character.)
I don’t mind if somebody really likes the idea of Peter becoming a doctor rather than a soldier. Truly, I understand the appeal. But I do have a problem when somebody tells me I’m wrong for believing Peter would continue to do what he had always canonically done after coming back to England.
Because Peter does have a relationship with violence. He doesn’t have a love for it, but he has been tangled in the necessity of it too many times not to follow through when it needs to be done.
And what happens when you raise a boy in war? What happens when you let him fight it? What happens when he learns the chain reaction: fight the battle, win the war, set them free? And then what happens when you put him into situations that can’t be solved with his hands? Give him enemies he can’t fight? Give him wars he can’t be a part of?
And that’s what I mean by “Peter prefers problems he can hit.”
Not that Peter rushes to violence when it isn’t called for, or that he craves war when he finds himself in peace, or anything else of that angry, vicious nature that some people have come to believe--- Gosh, I think Peter would far rather lay the sword down than ever have to pick it up again.
(But it’s what he does. Time after time.)
Peter is a big brother, ever looking after the others. Peter is the High King, ever doing what Narnia requires. Peter is the loyal servant, ever following Aslan’s instruction. Even if it scares him, it’s what he does.
So I don’t think he likes feeling helpless. I think he likes knowing what to do, and I think intangible problems drive him a little crazy, and I think a sword is a very physical thing that has served him well too many times.
Despite my very obvious complaints against “Prince Caspian’s” movie characterization here, I have to say that this is something I love about “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.” Peter’s older in the film than he is in the book. He’s closer to going to war himself. And what do we see him do? We see him distracted by passing soldiers-- not much older than himself. We see him reading on the train: “Biggles Goes To War.” We see him consumed by the war, even up to the point that he mimics WWII battle strategies against the Witch’s army.
This is the Peter I’m talking about: the one who feels sick at violence, and shakes and cries and hugs his sisters when its done, and yet...... does it. Every time.
I feel like there’s a dozen things I may be missing, but I think that’s the gist: Peter’s an unwilling soldier who doesn’t know how to put down his sword.
He’s a great warrior, but not an indiscriminate one. He’s a gentle spirit, but not a passive one. Violence made him, but he is so much more than his violent acts. He’s complex. He’s dutiful. He’s faithful. He’s capable. He fights because he has to, and as long as it’s asked of him, he will continue to do it.
So that’s where I stand. That’s why I may seem to show contradictory versions of Peter throughout my fics and edits and commentary; why I may say he’s not violent and then paint an image of him that ties him to violence anyway.
Whether you disagree is your prerogative. This is, by nature, a nuance-based take, and while I do think there’s wrong interpretations of Peter Pevensie out there, I also believe that there is a lot of room within that nuance for various interpretations to be equally right. This isn’t me making an end-all-and-be-all analysis that everyone else must follow to the letter.
This is just me explaining -- for myself or for anyone else who cares to listen -- what I believe, and how it affects the things I create. <3 So there’s my take on Peter’s complicated relationship with violence: the way it coats him, and yet, doesn’t define him: the way he’s so softhearted, and yet not himself without it.
“For never since we four were Kings and Queens in Narnia have we set our hands to any high matter, as battles, quests, feats of arms, acts of justice, and the like, and then given over; but always what we have taken in hand, the same we have achieved." ~Peter [The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: Chapter XVII: The Hunting of the White Stag]
Disclaimer: none of this is anti-Aslan “look how he traumatized this poor boy” propaganda, and if that is your viewpoint, kindly do not interact with this post. :)
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i’m sure people smarter than me have said this, but the odyssey is the sequel to the monomyth actually. in the hero’s journey the hero departs from home, from innocence, from safety, to fulfil his destiny. in homer’s the odyssey, the war is over, the destiny fulfilled. next comes the real fight, the unwinnable fight—to return to everything you left home to fight for.
in the first half of the poem, while odysseus fights tooth and nail to return home, his home fights with its last breath to give odysseus a home to return to. and time is running out. his wife penelope is down to her last desperate excuse. suitors have invaded his home, eating through his household and his wealth. his son, telemachus, almost grown, leaves home for the first time to find out if odysseus is still alive, if there is still a reason to keep fighting. having lost everything he had, over and over, odysseus is finally allowed to arrive in his homeland. at first he doesn’t recognise it. and he is cursed to look old and decrepit, so that none of his loved ones would recognise him.
for the second half of the poem, he has returned and miraculously, he has not been displaced or forgotten. but now he has to reclaim what was his. and removing the rot, restoring this place to the home odysseus remembers, is long and painful. instead of walking through the front door, he must sneak in through the back or risk being thrown out. not a single person knows him by sight; odysseus must prove his identity over and over, to every member of his household. he must retell story after story, share secret after secret, reveal every marking or scar upon his body, to finally be recognised by his own family. and then he destroys every last trace of the intruders—kills the men, kills the servants, wipes the slate clean.
by athena’s magic, he is restored to his former youth and glory as he reunites with his wife. the families of the slain suitors try to seek revenge, but zeus, lord of the skies, intervenes. odysseus, filled with his god-given strength, is home, and ready to fight to protect it.
it’s a complete sequel to the heroes journey, but what makes it part of the monomyth is the horrible truth about odysseus’ tale: that it’s impossible. that you will leave, and your home will change in your absence, and someone might fill your place; your family won’t recognise you, your wife met someone else, intruders have destroyed your home, and you will never be as young as you were. you will return and you will fight with every ounce of your strength and it won’t be enough to turn back the clock. it’s the terrible last chapter to every hero’s story that we don’t like to talk about.
and yet, of course, it’s the same story we tell over and over: we’ve won the war, now all we want is to return home, but home is no longer somewhere we can reach.
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