Posts Tagged ‘symbolism’

Why Avatar Is Not a Good Movie

I already offered my problems with Avatar when I reviewed it two weeks ago. While I don’t want to repeat myself, that review was written shortly after the film’s opening, before the popular opinion of it had a chance to congeal. In general, opinions of the film haven’t been totally different—though they have been much more positive—from my own: The consensus seems to be that Avatar is visually impressive, if not all that original in terms of story and character.

What has been surprising, though, is how critics and audiences alike do not seem to care about the film’s weaknesses. Almost every review I’ve read, whether from an established critic like Roger Ebert or simply someone’s Twitter feed, has acknowledged the film’s simplicity and derivativeness, and then completely ignored them. In fact, some people have gone even further, saying that the smallness of the story and the characters actually makes the movie better. Sam Adams at The A.V. Club wrote that it’s the film’s political message—and not its visual inventiveness—that is so revolutionary.

Adams’ argument is that the simplicity and obviousness of the film’s message enhances its role as a political invective:

[T]he movie can—and, I think, ought to—be seen as a polemic, which makes criticism of its obviousness beside the point. Having Lang’s colonel refer to his plan to bomb the Na’vi into submission with the words “shock and awe” is not subtle, but it’s not meant to be. Cameron means to be confrontational, and to be sure, audiences looking for a diverting night out are not allowed to overlook the parallels. Continue reading

“Unnecessary, Idle Cerebral Play”: Petersburg and the Substance of Shadow

This is Part II (of…II) of our review of Andrei Bely’s Petersburg. The first, which you can read by clicking here or scrolling down for about two seconds, focused on Bely’s use of an amorphous narrative voice to foster an atmosphere of instability.

Let’s go all the way back to the prologue, in which Bely established his earlier theme of narrative instability with his opening question, “What is this Russian Empire of ours?” Bely concludes the prologue by opening up another key theme: the relationship between fiction and reality. The prologue closes with the idea that “Petersburg not only appears to us, but actually does appear—on maps: in the form of two small circles, one set inside the other, with a black dot in the center; and from precisely this mathematical point, which has no dimension, it proclaims forcefully that it exists…”. Bely here states that Petersburg’s existence is affirmed by its appearance on a map; the map validates the city as more than just the construction of a solipsistic mind. This argument contains the implication that Petersburg’s actual appearance in brick and stone could be illusionary, could just be “cerebral play.” But make it a dot on a map, in a book, and the city’s existence is forcefully proclaimed, its buildings and prospects becoming real and tangible.

It’s the same argument Bely will make about the characters and events of his novel, albeit one complicated by the fact that those characters and events, unlike the city of Petersburg, do not actually exist and in fact are the construction of a solipsistic mind. Bely works around this by using his narrative voice to muse on the function of fiction through snide side commentary and metanarration. This conceit is best expressed in the novel’s first chapter through Apollon Apollonovich’s interactions with the “idle shadow” of the stranger. “[I]dle shadow” is a significant way of referring to the stranger by the narrative voice because the stranger does not exist: “The shadow arose by chance in the consciousness of Senator Ableukhov and acquired its ephemeral being there.” Our impulse is thus to disregard the stranger’s “existence,” to view it as reflective of Apollon Apollonovich’s mental state more than anything else. But the NV presses on by making the comparison between Apollon Apollonovich’s conscious construction of the stranger and Bely’s concurrent construction of Apollon Apollonovich: “But the consciousness of Apollon Apollonovich is a shadowy consciousness because he too is the possessor of an ephemeral being and the fruit of the author’s fantasy: unnecessary, idle cerebral play.” Note the repetition of “idle,” which serves to make the comparison more explicit; the senator’s relationship with the stranger then becomes analogous to our relationship to the senator.

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