What is the Use of a Liberal Arts Degree?

Dear Readers,

Let me start with my deepest apologies.  I have not written anything for you since July.  I have recently gone back to school for my Masters, and that process involved a lot of changes.  I have moved to Dublin, Ireland, where I am attending Trinity College.  The transition to living outside the states, adjusting to a new culture, and going back to school has made it difficult for me to find time to write.  That being said, I have had the time to do so, and I have simply not gotten around to it, and for that, I do apologies, as it is not fair to you readers.

Going back to school has gotten me thinking about education, its purpose, and its negative aspects.  I was recently on facebook, and I came across an article by Matt Walsh on college education.  Normally, when my friends post articles by Mr. Walsh, I tend to scroll past, because I find his style didactic and annoying.  However, for no particular reason, I decided to give this one a shot.  And while I did find Mr. Walsh’s prose as shallow as ever, I was surprised to find myself somewhat agreeing with him.  His point was that the university system has become a scam, a scam that negatively impacts both students, and those who never go to college.  The massive amounts of debt and lack of job experience put the college student at a disadvantage when looking for a job, while the lack of a college degree causes difficulties for the non-student.  Furthermore, for most students, a college degree is a useless piece of paper.  Understand, I am going back to school for my Masters, in the hope of one day getting my PhD and becoming a college professor.  I have nothing against colleges in general.  But looking at students, I am not certain that college is a benefit to the vast majority.

Consider what the purpose of higher education should be.  In technical fields, it is to provide experienced professionals, who can help younger students to gain both knowledge and experience in their particular field of study.  In the fields of medicine or applied science, higher education makes sense, as it is training for a particular profession.  In this sense, college can be seen as a variation of a trade school, where a specific subject is taught to students looking to specialize in the field, to provide them with the skills necessary to work in that field.  The fact that these areas of specialization are highly technical and require a knowledge of the history of the field and an intricate knowledge of the subject make them obvious candidates for the usefulness of higher education (one would not want a surgeon who had never taken anatomy to operate).

When one moves to the area of Liberal Arts, however, the argument changes.  One does not require a detailed knowledge of the works of Shakespeare or the writings of Homer in the average career.  And while it might be fascinating to know the causes of the fall of the Roman empire, or to discuss the implications of post modernist theory on the conception of the individual, neither of these directly correlates with the students ability to, say, work in a management position in retail, or run his own business.  Thus, the purpose of a liberal arts education must lie outside the direct application of the subjects being taught.  Aristotle posited that the purpose of education is to make the student a better person.  When considered this way, the defense of the liberal arts degree is that study of the arts teaches the student to think critically about a subject, and the process of learning how to think in a particular subject shows the student how to think critically in all subjects.  Thus, knowing the causes of the fall of the Roman empire can allow the business owner to look at his dealings in a critical manner and to recognize those that will be detrimental.  Unlike those fields of education that deal with application then, it is the role of the university, to quote an old cliché, not to teach the student what to think, but how to think.

This is where the danger to the modern university system lies.  Because, based on my experiences and those of many of my friends in college, this is not what higher education does.  In a system where good grades are paramount, the temptation for the student is to answer questions in agreement with the professor, rather than out of some process of critical thought,  Students are taught to parrot back their professor’s opinions and to compromise their personal ethics in order to be “successful” in college.  The process of teaching out of textbooks further compounds this issue, as it encourages students, not in the process of actual research, discovery, and learning, but to skim a boring collection of biased “facts” for just enough information to pass the test.  Thus, colleges are not producing students who have been taught “how to think,” but rather those who have skated through on minimum effort by conforming their answers to the standards of their professors.

The blame for this, however, does not rest entirely with colleges.  It is a part of a vicious circle.  Employers, believing that a college education will engender students with the ability to think, require applicants to have a college degree.  Young people are forced, therefore, into an institution that is designed for a particular type of person.  The student who sees college as merely a step on to a specific career will treat his education as just that: “this is something I have to get through to get a real job.”  For the student who is goal oriented instead of learning focused, getting through college with as good grades as possible is paramount.  Thus, the student gives the professors the answers they want, as this is the simplest, most effective way of getting that good grade.  The student then emerges without the requisite skills of critical thought that he was supposed to attain through education, having been taught, not to think for himself, but to conform himself to authority to make life easier.  In the end, employers do not get workers who can think critically, and students enter adult life with massive amounts of debt, and no critical skills to help them in the work place.  And this becomes a self perpetuating circle with no winner.

But wait, there does seem to be a winner in this situation.  The university.  They have a captive market: young people have to have a degree to get a job, and are willing to put themselves into debt to get that degree.  The university can charge what they want, and the students will pay it because they have to pay it.  From a business standpoint, this is a win for the university.

Except it isn’t.  Remember, the purpose of a liberal arts university is not to teach people what to think, but how to think.  The university is failing utterly at its single purpose.  Its financial success comes at the price of its integrity.  By teaching students what to think, the university undercuts its own value.  If the arts are valuable because they teach a process of critical thinking and self-reflection, then any system that teaches the arts must esteem these values most highly.  In sacrificing critical thought on the idol of financial gain, the university sacrifices not just its integrity, but its purpose for existence.

Again, however, the situation is more complex than simply an “evil” corporate institution sacrificing its integrity for financial gain.  Students and employers bear some of the blame.  It is shortsighted and lazy on the part of an employer to assume that a college degree implies a particular set of qualities in an applicant.  When college education has become so common, it is no longer a standard of excellence, nor are all qualities that make for an excellent employee best cultivated in the classroom.  By perpetuating the myth that a college education makes a person more qualified to work, the employer forces young people, who might have been better served by transitioning straight into the work force, to instead spend four years and large amounts of money to obtain an essentially useless degree.  On the other hand, the student is also to blame.  It is possible to learn critical thought in the university setting.  The same standard that promotes conformity in the majority of students also produces genuine critical thought in others.  The attitude with which the student approaches his education dramatically changes the way in which that student learns, and the end result of the process.  For these students, learning is an enjoyable practice; they study because they like pushing their minds to think in different ways, and the college environment stimulates this type of studying for them. 

I am trying not to sound elitist as I say this, but some students are not cut out for academic studies.  They would learn to think more critically through independent study, or casual conversation with friends.  To force these individuals into the specific college setting does not benefit either the student or the college, as the student will perform poorly by the college standards, (not grade wise necessarily, but ultimately in achieving the goal of independent thought), and the student will inevitably lose any love for learning he might once have had, which will stunt any further development of critical thought in the future.

 I do not propose a solution.  At this point, there is none.  There are not enough students who would willingly boycott the college system and imperil their work future to effect change from that area, nor will employers recognize the failure of liberal arts college to teach critical thought.  Change also cannot come from within the university because there is not really an alternative.  There is no universal process for teaching critical thought, and so there will always be some students left behind in any attempted universal education system.  The only option for change from an academic perspective would be to limit the system to such an extent that only students who excel in an academic system can possibly succeed there.  The negative impact this would have financially on colleges and psychologically on students, however, makes this unfeasible.  Thus, I cannot think of any way, currently, to change the system.  Perhaps a combined effort of students, employers, and colleges could work, but such a change would require large participation from a group of people that has been and is being accidentally schooled in compliance to the status quo.

Before I leave, I want to make a few disclaimers.  I am giving my opinion based on my experiences, and the experiences of the people I have seen around me.  I make to academic claims, offer no proofs of study, only the evidence of my experience.  As such, my conclusions are simply my own.  Others, who have had dramatically different experiences might differ with my conclusions, and be well within their rights to do so.  I encourage those who disagree with me to comment, so I can see how your experiences have varied from mine.  As this is a bit of a loaded topic, however, I have a couple of conditions.  If you want to comment, please do so in a respectful manner.  Just because someone disagrees with you does not make them evil or stupid.  Please submit comments that further discussion, not argument.

Well, back to reality.

Crazy Life and Summer Reading

Dear Readers,
I do not know how many of you follow me consistently, and how many just happen to find your way here for a specific review.  For those of you who do read my posts consistently, I have to apologize.  I am not going to be able to complete a review for July.  With everything going on in my life right now, I simply do not have the time I would like to put into a review and make it good.

In an attempt to ease the blow I am going to try something a bit different.  As it is summer, and for people that means vacations, and time to read, I am going to make a list of some of my favorite summer reading books, with a quick intro to each book.

Most of my summer reading tends to be either science fiction or fantasy.  As far as fantasy novels go, very few people do them as well as Brandon Sanderson.  My go to summer book when I am out camping is his first novel, Elantris.  I love the mythological and political aspect of the story, and every time I read the book I find myself discovering new things about the story.  Also by Sanderson is the Mistborn trilogy.  Again, based around an interesting mythology and a exquisitely constructed system of magic, the Mistborn series is a must read for anyone interested in fantasy literature.

In the genre of science fiction, I recommend Ender's Game as a great place to start.  A highly entertaining and thought provoking look at war and the psychological toll of victory, the story also features some of the most memorable characters and vivid scenes I have encountered in literature.  Particularly fascinating is the concept of the battle school where children are trained to be military commanders from a very young age.  Another good sci-fi read for this summer is Maze Runner by James Dashner.  Like Ender's Game, Maze Runner follows a memorable collection of characters as they are placed in a dangerous and constantly changing maze, and their struggle to escape.  This is a good read this year particularly, in preparation for the release of the movie version this fall.

If sci-fi and fantasy just are not your cup of tea, then consider The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin.  Part murder mystery, part neighborhood romp, The Westing Game keeps you guessing right up to the final pages.  The characters are enjoyable, and the mystery aspect is interesting, but not too scary.  This story is perfect for family reading.  Also in the great family reading category is Carry on Mr. Bowditch by Jean Lee Latham.  A fictional rendering of the life of Nathaniel Bowditch, the book is funny and educational.  A wonderful story, well told, of life on the sea, and the beauty of mathematics.

So there you have it, a few books to get you started on your summer reading,  I hope that you all enjoy your summer, and hopefully I will be able to get back with a review in August.

Well, back to reality.

Children's Movies, and How To Train Your Dragon 2

Dear Readers,

So last month I promised a review of How to Train Your Dragon 2.  Hopefully I will still be able to include that in this post, however, I wanted to widen my scope a little bit and talk generally about kids movies and movies kids watch.  The older I get, and the more I go back and re-watch the movies that I loved as a kid, and watch the movies that I never watched as a kid, I begin to think about what movies I might one day show my kids, and what restrictions I might set on their viewing, and why.

Growing up, there were certain movies that my parents would not allow my sister and me to watch.  I had never seen Jaws before my first year of college, anything with vampires or werewolves was strictly prohibited, and witches were almost universally the bad guys in any movie I watched.  Looking back, I view these restrictions in a mixed light.  One the one hand, I do feel that I missed out on a cultural sense by never having seen Dracula or The Wolfman.  There are certain social references and inside jokes that I simply do not get because I never watched those sorts of movies.  On the other hand, I do not have the same phobias that I have seen in my friends who were exposed to “horror” movies as younger kids.  I have no irrational fear of swimming pools or lakes from watching Jaws to young, no fear of spiders, snakes, clowns, woods, the dark, or bats.  Comparing my upbringing with those of my friends who do suffer from such phobias, I believe my parents made some wise decisions in choosing what we were allowed to watch and what was forbidden.

Where, however, does one draw the line?  At the other extreme end of the spectrum, I know families who did not allow their children to watch Disney movies because they were to dark, or The Wizard of Oz because it had witches in it.  How much darkness in a film is appropriate for children?  Rewatching some of my favorite Disney classics, I am struck by how dark they can get: Jafar, Millificent, Ursula, Scar, and the Evil Queen in Snow White are all very powerful, evil characters.  In their own way, each of these characters also triumphs over the good characters for a brief period.  I was shocked the first time I watched The Princess and the Frog when one of the characters was depicted being dragged down to hell by demonic spirits.  This in a kids movie?!  Are my more conservative friends right in protecting their children from ordinary “kids” movies that are filled with darkly disturbing elements?

I guess the answer depends upon how you answer a different question; what is the purpose of a children’s movie?  Are kids movies designed to teach, to instruct, to entertain, or to amuse?  Each of these is a particular focus of children’s film, and each will answer the question of how much darkness is appropriate in a children’s movie in a different way.

If the role of a children’s movie is merely to amuse, then the content should be as dark as necessary to keep a child’s attention for a prolonged period, while not making it so dark as to really frighten a child.  Amusement is the easiest goal to reach in a children’s movie, because the intent is not to stimulate the child, but to sedate them.  Most cartoons, and the majority of poor quality children’s films fall into this category.  Darkness is generally useless in this type of film because conflict causes children to think and question.  Children have a basic concept of fairness, and when a villainous character upsets that balance, it causes the child to become upset.  Thus, if one believes the purpose of a kids movie is simply to amuse the children, then the violent the film, the better.

If, on the other hand, the purpose is to entertain, the question shifts slightly.  Entertainment is build upon interaction and sympathy.  Character is critical to a truly entertaining movie.  One of the easiest ways of creating interaction and sympathy with a character is to put them into the sort of unfair situation one would avoid in amusement.  When a child’s sense of fairness is offended on behalf of a character, the child begins to feel with that character.  The struggles of the character and his triumph at the end of the story become much more important to the child because he shares in the character’s victory.  Some darkness is therefore appropriate if the purpose of a movie is to entertain child.

Thirdly, the purpose of children’s movies could be to teach.  This occurs in two ways.  First is through deliberately educational programs such as Sesame Street, Kratt’s Creatures, Reading Rainbow, or Bill Nigh the Science Guy (yes, I realize I just totally aged myself with those references).  Each of these programs sets out to teach children specific principles about a specific subject such as science, literature, or math.  Children may enjoy the characters on these shows because they are familiar faces, but they recognize them for what they are, “adult” guides there to teach them about the world.  More subtle, but still teaching tools, are movies like The Lion King where concepts like the ecological system are subtly presented around the frame of a larger story.  Many of the best children’s films have these “teachable moments” in them, but the moments are secondary to a larger goal.

This larger goal is the fourth view of a children’s movie, to be instructional.  While instruction and teaching are often associated with each other, they have entirely different methods and goals.  While teaching is focused on information, instruction is centered on principles.  The law of gravity may determine whether we walk or float to school, but it is principles that tell us not to throw a baby out the school window.  Generally, the greatest stories are those that demonstrate the characters living according to a fixed set of principles.  Children’s stories are no different, indeed, the best children’s stories take a specific virtue: honesty, hard work, compassion, and embody that virtue in a character.  As the child begins to sympathize with the character, he also begins to value the traits that make the character special: the virtues.  Some degree of darkness pivotal in the instructing film because it provides the character with a struggle and gains the child’s sympathy, but also because it provides a contrast of vice with virtue for the child to emulate.

The best children’s movies are those that are instructional and entertaining.  Merely amusing movies treat children as if they are a different creature that needs to be sedated instead of treating them like a person who appreciates the nuances of story and character.  A good children’s movie should be entertaining to both children and adults.  An adult should be able to appreciate the subtlety more deeply than a child, but they should both be appreciating the same factors of the film; the power of the story, the growth of the characters, the fear of darkness and the triumph of good.

This is not to say that the fear of darkness and triumph of good always play out in the same manner in all children’s films.  Many of the latest kids movies do not have the same stark themes of good versus evil that used to be the norm.  A lot of newer movies feature the protagonist’s struggle against circumstances (Finding Nemo), against their own flaws (Frozen, Kung Fu Panda, Cars), or against a negative aspect of their society (How to Train Your Dragon, and to a lesser extent Brave).  This seems to be a part of a societal shift toward a more relativistic view of good and evil, in which every character is a mixed bag of traits.  The best of these movies, however, features the characters achieving their victories at a cost: In Nemo, the whole story is overshadowed with Marlin coping with the death of his wife, and in the first How to Train Your Dragon, both Toothless and Hiccup are wounded physically and have to learn to rely on each other for support.

Which brings me to How to Train Your Dragon 2.  I went into the first movie with very low expectations, and was pleasantly surprised by the excellence of both the animation and the story.  The original rates among one of my favorite children’s movies ever.  Thus, I went into the second movie with both trepidation and hope.  One of the most pleasantly surprising facts about the movie was the fact that is was very different from the first.  The tendency in movie sequels, particularly for children’s movies, is the temptation to remake the first movie.  The difficulty is what worked in an original movie does not work in a deliberate attempt at duplication.  Thus, I have never seen a good sequel to a Disney cartoon.  Dreamworks tends to do a bit better in creating films that are in the spirit of the original, but that follow a new story and new challenges for the characters.  This is what How to Train Your Dragon 2 did very well.  The struggle of the first film was Hiccup learning to stand up to his father and society to create a positive change.  It nwas also a story about learning to see past difference and trying new things.  The friendship between Hiccup and Toothless was deeply touching, and by working through their individual troubles.

Instead of trying to recreate the first movie, the new story took the story along entirely different lines.  Instead of fighting prejudice within his own community, it is an outside threat that confronts Hiccup.  Drago, a power hungry warlord with the ability to control dragons threatens Berk.  Hiccup tries to reason with Drago, as he did with his father in the first movie, but Drago is a more traditional villain; he is not blinded by prejudice or a misguided desire, but instead is driven by his desire for power.  Although he pretends to want to protect people from the dragons, he is actually using his sway over the dragons to control those around him through fear.  Hiccup cannot convince him to change because instead of being merely misguided, this villain is genuinely evil.  In light of this fact, Hiccup and Toothless respond in the only way possible; when faced with a tyrant who cannot be reasoned with, lovers of freedom must fight.  It was refreshing to see this; Hiccup first tried to be reasonable, but seeing that there was no hope for a sane solution, he set aside his love of peace, and fought courageously to secure the freedom of those for whom he is responsible.

While the presence of a dark and disturbing villain separated the second movie from the first, it kept the endearing relationships that made the characters so lovable in the original.  Hiccup has grown from the awkward boy in the first movie into a man struggling to define himself.  His father wants him to take up the leadership of the village of Berk, but Hiccup sees all the areas where he is not his father, and questions his ability to lead.  When the threat of Drago is revealed, Hiccup takes it upon himself to reason with the tyrant.  In the process, he reconnects with his mother, who has been missing for the last twenty years.  It turns out that she has been living with wild dragons, learning their ways.  As Hiccup gets to know his mother, he sees that he has a lot in common with her, but as the threat of Drago becomes immanent, he also realizes that he does posses the concern for others that made his father such a great leader.  Through this knowledge, Hiccup is able to come into his own as a leader, and defeat Drago, who rules others through fear, not through love.

The catalyst for this change in Hiccup comes from his parent’s reconnection, they love they have for each other, and then the tragic loss of his father.  As Hiccup sees his mother bring out the gentle side of his father, Stoick, he sees what truly makes his father a great leader.  When Stoick is killed in battle, Hiccup assumes responsibility for the people of Berk, while discovering a solution to the problem that is uniquely his own.  Just like in the first movie, this large change in Hiccup’s life comes at a cost.  His victory in the first movie, over a simple thing like prejudice, cost Hiccup his leg.  This new victory, over despicable tyrant is not bloodless.  It costs Hiccup the second most important person in his life.  In most children’s movies, there is victory, but it is rare to see the cost of those victories portrayed so vividly.  This is what makes both How to Train Your Dragon films so impactful; that nothing is free, that every victory has a cost, and that often the cost is tragically high.  In the end, however, the victory is worth the cost.  The change in the village of Berk was worth Hiccup losing his leg.  The safety of the villagers, Astrid, and Hiccup, and his mother, was worth Stoic’s self sacrifice.

Was the second movie better or worse than the first?  At this point, I am not entirely sure.  The first was such a delightful combination of humor, beautiful artistry, and relatable characters that it was almost perfect.  While the second movie was thoroughly enjoyable, and had a lot of the same aspects that made the first brilliant, I do now know that it will stand the test of time the same way the first has.  I could be wrong.  My sisters all tell me I am absolutely wrong, that the second one was as good if not better than the first.  Maybe, in a few months, years, or a few more viewings, I might be able to nail down more firmly which is the better movie.  While How to Train Your Dragon 2 may not have been as good as the first one, however, it was an excellent children’s movie, and well worth seeing in theatres.

Well, back to reality!

How I Learned to Like Spiderman

Dear Readers,

As you may have guessed, this particular entry is about the Amazing Spiderman 2.  As the days grow longer and summer approaches, we have a whole slew of new summer blockbusters to look forward to.  The Amazing Spiderman 2 is one of the first this summer.  Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone reprise their roles as Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy in this visually impressive high action film.  As usual, I will do a quick review of the film that does not contain any spoilers first, then go on into a more in depth analysis.  If you have not seen the movie yet and don’t want it spoiled, please read the next paragraph, but no farther.  For the rest of you, enjoy the ride.

I must confess that I lied for dramatic effect in the title today.  I used to like Spiderman.  When the first of the Spiderman movies with Tony McGuire came out, I loved it.  The concept of a brilliant high-school kid who accidentally acquires a really cool set of superpowers really appealed to nerdy me.  I enjoyed the second movie, but not nearly as much as the first one, and then tragedy struck in the form of the third movie in the trilogy.  In my humble opinion, the third Spiderman movie was a wreck.  There was not enough genuine character development, the action sequences were way to long, and the presence of three villains, all of whom needed development and back stories, was simply too much to handle in one movie.  And the poison of the third film did not simply ruin that movie, but the previous two as well, working on my perceptions of the characters and coloring my opinions negatively.  The first Amazing Spiderman did little to repair my opinion of the characters.  While Toby McGuire played a very traditionally nerdy Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield’s character was a good looking, physically confident show off, who spent most of the movie accidentally revealing his new powers to whomever happened to be looking.  He came across as an angst-ridden skater not a bullied nerd.  Furthermore, the complex background story about his parents’ disappearance seemed a bit superficial for the story they were trying to tell.  In this new movie, however, the character came into his own.  The major difference for me was the transition from simple skater to a practical nerd.  There are many different types of nerds, but the most interesting is the practical nerd, the person  who may not be a conceptual genius, but who can design and build the things he needs to accomplish his purposes.  Those who are familiar with the T.V. show Myth Busters are very familiar with the concept of the practical nerd, and Tony Stark in Iron Man is the most obvious example in the modern superhero pantheon.  The practical nerd is the inventor, the genius who might not understand the subtleties of theoretical physics, but who likes to build web slingers in his room and explode batteries in his garage.  This transition from sullen skater to inventor creates a character that is accessible to the primarily nerdy audience, while at the same time creating a foundation of bravado and confidence that translates well to Peter Parker’s alter ego, the wise-cracking Spiderman.  Besides the development of Peter Parker, the film also did a pretty good job of balancing the action sequences with slower moments.  Like the third movie of the original film trilogy, the movie featured three different villains, however, unlike the previous film, The Amazing Spiderman 2 was able to balance the action by focusing on a main villain, Electro, and while treating the encounters with Green Goblin and Rhinoceros as teaser battles for a future films.  The battle sequences with Electro were beautiful visually, and although I thought it was a little bit prolonged, it was so well constructed that I did not mind as much as I normally would have. On the character development side, the on again off again nature of Peter Parker’s relationship with Gwen Stacy was a bit annoying, but understandable given his guilt over her father’s death.  The continued revelation of the story behind Peter’s parents’ disappearance was interesting, but should have been developed further; as it was, it felt like the story was developed to an important revelation, but then was left without any consummation.  Perhaps this was deliberate in an attempt to keep the story building in future films, but as it was, it was a bit confusing, as the movie followed the story in one direction and then left it hanging to run off in another.  Overall, however, I thought the story was solid, the characters likable and well developed, and the action sequences thoroughly entertaining.  As summer blockbusters go, The Amazing Spiderman 2 was above average; entertaining and well thought through.

Now for the spoilers section.  My friends who read comic books reliably informed me when the first Amazing Spiderman came out that Gwen Stacy was Peter Parker’s first girlfriend, and that her death was hugely pivotal to the development of Spiderman as a character.   I was prepared, therefore, for the “stunning” twist at the end of the movie.  In a dramatically wrenching moment, the Green Goblin pushes Gwen off a high platform, Spiderman shoots a web to catch her, and either the fall or the force of her momentum being abruptly arrested kills her.  The dramatic was nicely foreshadowed throughout the film by Peter Parker’s sense of guilt for the death of Gwen’s father, Captain Stacy, and the promise he made to protect Gwen by staying away.  In the end, Gwen asserts herself and states that she has the right to make her own decisions about how she will live and risk her life. She chooses Peter Parker, Spiderman, and to rush into danger because it is the right thing to do.  The choice costs her everything, but it was her choice.  No one made it for her.  Through this moment, Peter learns that he cannot control the choices of everyone around him.  He can only control the decisions he makes and choose to do the right thing, even when it hurts.  This is what made the movie so hugely impactful for me.  A lot of times, superheroes do not lose much.  They go through rocky moments in their relationships, their homes are sometimes destroyed and the ones they love are constantly endangered, but it is very rare to see a superhero actually lose someone that critically important to him.  The fact that the Amazing Spiderman, in the course of movies, loses three such important people (Uncle Ben, Captain Stacy, and Gwen), brings home the depth of the sacrifice he makes, and creates a dark shadow that contrasts well with the glib way in which Spiderman approaches his job to protect the city.  Life is always going to be made up of losses, of tragedies, and those need to be portrayed in the world of superheroes.  Whether you have superpowers or not, it is the tragedies that motivate the greatest triumphs and the little humorous moments that arise in those triumphs that makes the tragedies bearable.

A final note;

I apologize if this entry feels a bit rushed.  I try to get blog out every month for you, my readers, and this has simply been one of those months.  I have been going through quite a bit at home, work, and school in the last 30 days, and my writing has taken the biggest hit.  Hopefully things will calm down a bit over the next couple of months, and I will be able to give you the kind of reviews and analyses that you expect.  In the mean time, I hope you enjoyed what I have to say about The Amazing Spiderman 2.  In June, you can probably expect a review of How to Train Your Dragon 2, if everything goes according to plan (which, in life is very rare, but a girl can dream, right?!).

One final question.  I write this blog every month, mainly because I want to keep practicing my writing, but also because I am curious what the wider world think of my ideas about movies and books and all the other random stuff I write.  If you are a consistent reader, or just a one time reader dropping in, please leave me a comment to let me know what you think.  What do I do well, and what needs improving?  Are there books or movies that you have read or seen that you think I should check out and write a review for?  Do my thoughts inspire any thoughts of your own about the movie once you have seen it?  I want feedback… something to help me improve and become a better blogger and a better writer.  Thanks!

Well, back to reality.

Bookstores without Books

Dear Readers,

Last week, I received a piece of tragic news.  The bookstore at my college, William Jessup University was undergoing a transition.  From now on, the store will no longer offer books.  Instead, the students can go online and purchase their required texts through the store website.  This shift is a part of a pattern I have seen on university campuses that can be summed up in the change of terms from College Bookstore to Campus Store.  More and more, the university store is becoming a place to by sweatshirts and mugs; a second rate gift shop.  While I value the power of online purchasing, particularly in regard to textbooks, and I recognize the need for the university to adapt to the growing digital world, the repercussions of this event are troubling.  It is not just textbooks that are being lost from these stores.  The true tragedy is this, that there ever were textbooks in the college bookstore, and that now, not only the text books, but the “real” books are being lost.  I am talking about the books that students do not have to buy for classes, the books that the student browsing the shelves just happens to pick up and start reading.  I am talking about the novels, the plays, the collections of poetry, the philosophical dialogues and theological treatises.  I am talking about the histories of Thucydides, Herodotus, and Plutarch; the plays of Euripedes, Shakespeare, and Oscar Wilde; the writings of Plato, Thomas Aquinas, and Nietzsche.  These are the works that should be defining a student’s education, and it is these books that suffer the most from the transition to online bookstore and on campus gift shop.  Speaking from personal experience, I have not bought a book online that I did not “need.”  When I am shopping for textbooks, I buy the minimum required for classes.  When browsing in a bookstore, however, I take the time to pick up books I have not seen before, or have heard about but never read.  It was through this browsing of the William Jessup bookstore that I discovered G.K. Chesterton, Athanasius, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and Robert Heinlien’s The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.  Reading these works is an education in itself.  I learned more about modern British literature from reading Chesterton than I ever learned in my Brit Lit classes, and better theology from reading Athanasius than from all of my Bible and Theology classes combined.  Not only are these texts educational, however, they are engaging.  C.S. Lewis summed up the difference between literature and textbooks perfectly when he said, “The student is half afraid to meet one of the great philosophers face to face.  He feels himself inadequate and thinks he will not understand him.  But if he only knew, the great man, just because of his greatness, is much more intelligible than his modern commentator.” (On the Reading of Old Books).  The reason that books of this kind tend to be much more informative as well as being infinitely more readable can be illustrated by the example of the college bookstore.

The average college store contains two types of items; textbooks and school paraphernalia.  These represent a split in the modern conception of education.  This split is between the intellect and the animal desires.  Textbooks embody the idea that education should be devoid of any emotion that might cloud the logical approach to any subject.  Reason is king in these books, they seek to present the only the facts, without bias, passion, or engagement.  On the other hand, you have the emotional aspect of the bookstore, the sweatshirts, license plate holders, and mugs.  These are indicative of a herd instinct and a fundamental human loyalty to place, regardless of merit.  The difficulty with this arrangement is that is misses the point of true education.  There is only animal behavior in the pursuit of pure passion represented in simple school allegiance, and there is only madness in the subjection of the intellect to pure “reason.”

Without the application of reason, passion is reduced to an animal nature.  This is entirely opposed to the principles of education; which are about understanding the world, both in a physical and a cultural sense.  It is the defining factor of humanity to ask “why.”  Simple school patriotism, however, can often be nothing more than the animal desire to be a part of the herd or to fit in.  Consider the images that most readily come to mind when you think of “school spirit;” for me they are shirtless young men painted blue at a sporting event, red Solo cups of beer at a dorm party, or a mob of students ducking out of class early so they can survive one more day of the campus game of humans versus zombies.  I am not necessarily saying that the motives of any of these people are bad, but they are not a part of a university education.  A truly educated individual does not support a place, simply because he happens to be from there, but can also elucidate on the reasons why it is superior to the alternatives.  Passion without reason is bestiality, and the purpose of an academic institution is not to feed an animal nature, but to nurture a human one.  There is such a thing as well placed loyalty toward an institution, but simply feeding the desire to fit into a group does not build this sort of loyalty.  Legitimate school patriotism is built by rationally recognizing the benefits of a particular institution and allowing those reasons to nurture animal passion into a specific sentiment.

On the flip side, we see reason without passion.  This is the real trap for an academic society.  Most academic institutions would agree (in word if not wholly in policy), that their purpose is the reasonable study of the world.  As such, the temptation is approach that world through pure logic and total rationality.  This is illustrated in the college textbook.  The textbook takes a great deal of information about a subject and presents it in a systematic and rational way, demonstrating “nothing but the facts.”  The problem with this approach to education is that life is not purely rational, and to treat it as if it were is to embrace a particular form of madness.  G.K. Chesterton goes into this issue hat length in the first chapters of his book Orthodoxy.  Insanity is actually a very reasonable state Chesterton elaborates, “Perhaps the nearest we can get to expressing it is to say this: that his (the maniac’s) mind moves in a perfect, but narrow circle.  A small circle is quite as infinite as a large circle; but, though it is quite as infinite, it is not so large.  In the same way the insane explanation is quite as complete as the sane one, but it is not so large.”  Like the world of the insane man, the world of the textbook is “complete,” but it is not full.  Like Chesterton’s lunatic, the textbook’s explanation explains a large number of things, but it explains them in a small way.  It is only when reason is married to imagination and passion that one can truly experience reality in its fullness. 

The beauty of what I call “real books,” the plays, histories, novels, and dialogues of the past is that passion was not despised as the opposite of reason, but rather seen as the helpmate or partner in the discovery of reality.  A textbook isolates one part of the world, and pursues that section in an endless spiral of information disconnected from the broader reality.  This is why textbooks are such boring reading; the information they present is a self-contained whole that does not readily connect with the larger world of the reader.  True education is about making links between subjects; discovering that mythology influences science and vice versa, that mathematics and literature are both ways of describing the world around us, or that philosophy expresses itself in the major events of history.  As these pathways between subjects are opened, education becomes more and more relevant to the student, and he begins to make further connections, not just within education, but to his life outside of school; his understanding of the world in general leads to a greater understanding of himself and his place within the meta-narrative of history. 

C.S. Lewis addresses the separation of reason from passion in education in his book The Abolition of Man.  In the first chapter, he speaks about “Men without Chests,” highlighting how the modern approach to education is to separate the head (intellect) from the belly (passion).  This separation, however, eliminates what Lewis would call the chest of a man, “the seat… of Magnanimity, of emotions organized by trained habit into stable sentiments.”  Without this center, this rule over the emotions and interplay between the animal and the rational, man is no longer human “It may even be said that it is by this middle element that man is man: for by his intellect he is mere spirit and by his appetite mere animal.”  And this is the struggle that faces academia.  For so long, colleges have taught through the textbook, a coldly logical, purely factual instrument that separates passion from the subject.  In the process, however, they have destroyed the center of the academic world, namely, the desire to understand.  For desire is an emotional reaction, it is subjective and irrational.  It is only when we have bookstores with books, real books, books that stimulate the imagination as well as the reason, that the university will succeed in its goal of a becoming a place of learning and understanding.  William Jessup University is making exactly the wrong choice in eliminating books from the campus store.  While it is practical to give students the ability to purchase their textbooks online, the presence of real books in the bookstore provides opportunity for self-education and the integration of multiple fields of learning.  Furthermore, the bookstore offers something more, a third space, a place that is neither school nor home, where students can gather and socialize.  Conversation about books is one of the greatest ways to meet other people, and having a store where all types of students can come and browse creates a place of community and friendship.  In attempting to create an environment that will promote school spirit, the college is actually destroying a center of true intimacy, and by embracing internet purchasing and textbooks, the school is abolishing the chance of true education. 

Is it any wonder that a college education is becoming more and more useless in finding a job or obtaining a position?  People do not come to be educated any more, but simply to gain “experience.”  If the point of an education is not to become educated, then college is a useless redundancy.  Why should a company hire an employee who has simply been taught thoughtless allegiance and heartless information?  Actions are not driven by pure reason, nor are commitments driven solely by animal instinct.  The tools of education are being taken away from the student, and they are being left with nothing more than a façade.  How can the university expect students to become scholars when they take away the legitimate tools of scholarship?  The bookstore should be the heart of a university, the place where students choose to take their education into their own hands.  Instead of reading what is required, they are learning of their own volition.  Education only endures if it is volitional, and the university is violating the basic principles of education by denying students the ability to engage with their subjects and build their academic foundation upon both reason and passion.

Well, back to reality.

Rants and Raves 2

Dear Readers,

Well, it is March.  I haven’t been to see any good new movies.  I have been keeping busy working and TAing for a class at the college, so I am not quite sure what to write.  So, I guess I will just update you a little about what I have been reading and watching, and my recommendations there.  So without further ado, Rants and Raves 2.

The class that I have been assisting in is about well-known children’s author and Christian apologist C.S. Lewis.  Most of my reading lately has been from Lewis’ works.  We have been reading two essays a week.  I would recommend reading several of these.  In On the Reading of Old Books Lewis discusses the value of reading books that are not commonly read anymore.  Any students on literature, and anyone who reads generally should read this essay because it brings up the importance of varying your reading, of experiencing literature from different periods.  Lewis points out that different historical periods are inclined to different errors in belief, and reading from various times highlights the strengths and counters the deficiencies of the modern era.  Fern Seeds and Elephants is an excellent essay on the issues facing all literary critics, but particularly those who engage in Biblical analysis.  While mentioning such basic principles as historical context and genre, Lewis points out the supreme arrogance of much of the modern style of criticism and the errors to which such critics are often prone.  He particularly criticizes the assumption that any modern scholar can have a more accurate understanding of the “real meaning” of a text than those who shared with the author the assumptions, cultural understanding, language and situation as the author.

I have also been reading some material from authors who influenced Lewis; I just finished reading G.K. Chesterton’s Heretics. The book was a collection of essays about various authors and literary themes.  The fascinating thing about Chesterton’s work is the way in which he connects the work or author he is examining with the wider implications inherent in the work and from there, to the impact on belief and understanding.  Addressing such varied issues as poverty, cultural identity, alcoholism, and humanism, Chesterton approaches his subjects with respect, but with a deeply critical eye and the recognition that beliefs have consequences.  Highly readable and very engaging, Heretics is an excellent book for anyone interested in literature, philosophy, or theology.  It gets the reader thinking about the implication of their beliefs and how their most deeply held convictions influence their day-to-day actions.

Towards the end of February, I read Richard Platt’s As One Devil to Another, a novel written in the same style of C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters, containing letters from a senior devil to a junior tempter.  Like Lewis’ Screwtape, As One Devil to Another is a cutting look at temptation in the modern world, and the difficulties of living a Christian life with the distractions of technology, the independence, pride, and selfishness that have become commonplace.  Mr. Platt’s book is highly readable and deeply convicting’ it succeeds well in its goal of drawing attention to the difficulties of Christian life in an academic world.  The highest praise that I can give for this style of writing is that I felt like the book was written for me personally.  The temptations that the “patient” faced where instantly relatable and the strategies that the devils employed were easily recognizable in my own personal struggles with pride and ambition. The book was readable without being overly simplistic; again capturing a style and language similar to that used by Lewis.  While some readers might not be used to eloquent language, I encourage them to keep reading.  Like all truly valuable things in life, the more you are willing to invest, the more you will get out of it.  The language is not really that difficult, and if the reader allows himself to become immersed in the story, any difficulties he might encounter are quickly dispersed by the enjoyment of reading and a growing appreciation of the elegance of good writing. I highly recommend that everyone read this book, particularly Christians looking to pursue a career in academia.

For pleasure reading, I often go back to the fantasy genre.  As an avid fantasy reader over the years I have enjoyed the works of Terry Brooks, particularly the Shannara series.  I have been working my way through his latest trilogy in the world of Shannara: The Wards of Faerie, The Bloodfire Quest, and Witch Wraith.  As much as I love Terry Brook’s writing, however, I have been rather disappointed with these latest books.  Part of the issue comes in continuing to write within the world of Shannara.  Mr. Brooks has completed such a body of work within this magical land that it is inevitable that some of the events and themes will be reused.  This trilogy feels like a “best of” collection, a little bit from this book, a concept from that, this quest threatened by that dangerous adversary.  Having created such a diverse world, with such a potential mix of characters and attributes after centuries of families intermingling, it is frustrating that Mr. Brooks does not take advantage of that situation: bringing back the old plots such as the failing of the Forbidding, or the threat of the Federation, but introducing new and dynamic characters instead of recycling the same collection of characters, just with different names.  The one truly fresh addition is the presence of Oriantha, a shape shifter who’s druid mother and changeling father left her a powerful legacy of magic.  Oriantha is a fascinating character that is well developed and effectively used within the scope of the story.  For the most part however, there was nothing new about the new trilogy, and the avid fantasist would be better off re-reading Brooks’ earlier books than continuing to pursue the series.

Along with the reading I have been doing, I have also been following a few TV shows.  Dancing with the Stars returned last week, and I am looking forward to the season with both anticipation and dread.  Last season I was appalled by the final episodes and disgusted by the way in which the show rewards popularity over talent.  I was determined not to watch anymore, however, two names changed my mind: Meryl Davis and Charlie White.  The Olympic gold medal ice dancers are competing against each other on the show.  I was very excited to see what such talented athletes could do on a show that is mainly driven by personal popularity and audience bias toward particular professional dancers (I.E. Derek Hough).  Thus far, the show has been excellent with the exception of two painful performances by Billy Dee Williams.  The Star Wars actor has not demonstrated a modicum of dancing talent or of the suave sophistication that he was able to bring to the role of Lando Calrissian.  If he lasts beyond three weeks, I will despair of the state of humanity.  Most of the time, I tend to be lenient in my judgment of the poor dancers, especially if they seem to be enjoying performing or are funny in their approach.  There is no hope of redemption here.  Mr. Williams is the second worst performer I have ever seen on the show, falling just shy of the colossal monstrosity that was the dancing of Master P Miller.  I look forward to seeing how the rest of the season plays out, but at this point, my expectations of the show have been shattered, and I am just watching for the two Olympians, not for the show itself.

The other show I have begun following is The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.  I do not normally watch comedy TV, but with Jimmy Fallon taking the reigns on the Tonight Show, I have been hooked.  My favorite part is always the opening monologue; the jokes are hilarious, and Fallon is not afraid to make fun of himself along with everyone else.  Other highlights are the Thank You Notes section, and Tonight Show Superlatives.  While I do not normally stay and watch the closing musical numbers because most of the acts are musicians I have never heard of, the show has had some great guests over the last month.  It has been refreshing having a show I can watch that just makes me laugh.  It is a great relief from my work and the more serious reading I have been doing lately.

So there are my rants and raves for March.  I hope that my readers will take this opportunity to begin reading the works of C.S. Lewis, G.K. Chesterton, and Mr. Platt.  All three are excellent writers, with the ability to communicate complex conceptions in language that is simple and elegant.  For readers of fantasy literature familiar with the works of Terry Brooks, the latest trilogy is more reminiscent of a “top hits” collection instead of an original work, and the discerning reader would benefit more from re-reading his earlier works than by reading these latest books.  In TV, I highly recommend watching The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon if you are looking for a way to relax and enjoy an evening.  I still remain leery of this season of Dancing with the Stars, but I hope the presence of Charlie White and Meryl Davis will make the season bearable, despite the obvious flaws that the show has developed.  In short, be reading older books rather than constantly watching TV.  It is more enjoyable, you will learn more, and you will be more deeply affected by what you are putting in your head.

Well, back to reality.

National Theatre Live: Coriolanus

Dear Readers,

While I love to do reviews of films, my heart really lies in theatre.  The stage provides a more intimate interaction between the audience and the performer.  There are fewer gimmicks, which causes the actor to carry a larger burden of the storytelling.  This, in turn, enables the audience to see more clearly both the actor and the character that he or she is animating.  Personally, I am most fond of more minimalist stage productions.  Place the person on the stage; do not overwhelm them with an overabundance of props, effects, or scenery.  Let the performance be about the character and how he relates with the story.  I had the privilege of enjoying just such a show at the end of January in the National Theatre Live’s broadcast of the Donmar Theatre’s production of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.  The show was everything one could wish for in a play: well acted (for the most part), well staged, with an emphasis on character development.

When I first read Coriolanus, in preparation for viewing the performance, I was less than impressed.  I had just finished reading King Lear, and the contrast between the two plays was very obvious.  While Lear is subtle in the development of the characters and their motivations, Coriolanus was almost painfully obvious.  Each character’s motivations were clear from the outset: Volumnia by pride, the tribunes Brutus and Velutus by ambition, Menenius by fatherly affection, Cominius by nationalistic fervor, Tullus Aufidius by jealousy, and Caius Martius Coriolanus by honor and pride.  The remaining characters are less individuals, and function more in the fashion of a Greek chorus, outlining the various incidents and speaking with the voice of the masses.  Their motives are stark, and I was never under the impression that any individual was conflicted in his actions, but was simply acting according to the call of his nature.  Within the story, this personification of the characters makes sense, as the whole premise of the play lies upon Coriolanus’ inability to bow his nature to any inferior calling.  What the Donmar Theatre production was able to do was to round out the characters, giving them personalities beyond the most obvious trait of their nature, while at the same time retaining and emphasizing that dominant characteristic.  This was done through highly effective costuming, use of the theatre space, and moments “between the lines” of the original script.

The costuming for the show was brilliant: simple and effective in portraying each character as an individual, classical, but with a modern twist.  The characters of the chorus: soldiers, citizens, servants, and senators, played multiple parts, so their costumes were designed to change according to the status of the character: how a shawl was worn would distinguish a senator from a plebian.  This enabled the characters to play multiple roles without having to undergo an entire costume change, a necessary factor due to the rigorous pacing of the show and the rapid scene and set changes the venue calls for.  The costumes of the more important characters also emphasized their positions.  The most ambitious characters, Brutus, Velutus, and Volumnia wore more extravagant clothing: Brutus in a silk shirt, Velutus and Volumnia in purple.  Aufidius, Cominius, and Coriolanus all wore leather breastplates, bracers, and gloves to demonstrate their martial status and to separate them from the other characters on the stage.  The most distinctive costuming, however, was for Menenius.  A loved patrician, Menenius was costumed more modernly than most of the other characters, trousers and a cardigan covered by a moth eaten jacket and a long brown scarf.  The jacket had large pockets, which were constantly filled with papers.  Both the ragged nature of the costume, and the presence of the papers signify Menenius as humble and concerned about government, without seeming to be ambitious.  The highlight of the costuming, however, came with Coriolanus.  One of Shakespeare’s bloodiest plays, the impeccable changes in costume allowed Hiddleston to portray the character in bloody glory in fight scenes, then quickly return to regular clothing, despite the extremely brief nature of these costume changes.  This technique is used to particular effect at the end of the play when (spoilers) he is hung upside down and then has his throat cut.  The hanging enabled the costume designers to play a squib in the top part of the leather breastplate that Coriolanus wears.  When his “throat is cut,” the inverted position causes the blood in the breastplate to run over Coriolanus face and drip to the ground without actually dirtying the costume.  The resultant scene is dramatic and bloody, but also causes a minimum of repair and cleaning for the small cast and crew.

The single most brilliant and ironic uses of the costuming came in the scene in which Coriolanus presents himself to the people of Rome to beg for their “voices.”  As is traditional, Coriolanus appeared before the people in a “garment of humility,” in this case, a roughly woven tunic that came down to the knee.  The scene is a fascinating one, because Roman traditions calls for Coriolanus essentially to prostitute his body to the people of Rome, selling a glimpse of his battle scars for their “voices.”  This aspect is emphasized in the play by having the female chorus members be the ones to ask to see his scars, less than subtly indicating the sexual perversion of the scene.  The costumers, however, were able to add another dimension to this performance, by placing Hiddleston (recently named sexiest man of 2013) in a slightly transparent shift, then lighting him from behind so his naked legs could be seen underneath.  The (mostly female) audience joined with the voices of the people begging to see more, only to be denied by Coriolanus’ unwillingness to degrade himself for the common public.  It was a subtle twist, bringing the audience into a quick association with the plebian class before returning them to the perspective of the patricians, and I applaud costuming, lighting, and director for the artistic choice.

Not only was the costuming for the show excellent, but the use of the theatre space was highly effective as well.  The Donmar Theatre is a warehouse that was converted into a theatre; the space has a distinct character, but is lacking in much of the backstage and preparatory space usual to a theatre.  Because of this lack of backstage space, the show is limited in the use of scenery, and large props.  Instead of a curtain at the back of the stage, there was a simple blank wall with “Roman” graffiti projected onto it that changed according to the focus of the scene.  The stage itself was mostly bare, except for black chairs that were moved toward and away from the wall according to the needs of the characters, and a podium used in the senate and forum scenes to emphasize the political nature of the play.  The sparse background focused the performance on the characters, eliminating external distractions and subtly emphasizing critical moments.

What really drew the whole show together, however, were brilliant performances by the majority of the cast.  Both Elliot Levey and Helen Schlesinger were excellent in the role of Brutus and Velutus.  Because a woman played Velutus, the dynamic between the two tribunes was changed.  There was an added romantic aspect in their interactions, in which Velutus was the more powerful of the two, with Brutus acting the role of the obedient husband.  The relational nature of their mutual ambition enhanced the malevolence of their attacks on Coriolanus; instead of representing the opinion of the people and their hesitancy toward the proud soldier, the two tribunes seem to represent only their own interest, to the detriment of patrician and plebian.  The three standout performances, however, were from Deborah Findlay as Volumnia, Mark Gatiss as Menenius, and Tom Hiddleston in the title role.  Findlay did an excellent job portraying Coriolanus’ ambitious mother.  She brought a strength and dignity to the role that made Coriolanus’ affection and dependence on her seem natural.  Instead of portraying Volumnia as a bossy woman who intimidated and smothered her son’s natural character, she brought to life the similarity between the two, the indomitable sense of self that brooked no argument.  She has all the strength and ambition of Coriolanus, however, the position of women within her society has forced her to channel those characteristics into her relationship with her son, pushing him to achieve her ambitions and demanding obedience through the force of her presence.  In stark contrast, Mark Gatiss embodies the benevolent and good-natured patrician in his portrayal of Menenius.  While Volumnia is aggressive and unyielding, Menenius is amiable and affectionate; well liked and admired by members of every level of society.  He represents everything Coriolanus is not; humble and willing to compromise to achieve his goals.  A romantic relationship is hinted at between Menenius and Volumnia, and the two, while contrasted with each other, are also set up together in opposition to Brutus and Velutus; peerless ambition matched against indomitable self assurance, and the “voice of the people” versus the “voice of Rome.”  For the democratic viewer, the contrast is unsettling.  The models of democracy, the two tribunes, are self-serving rogues who alienate one of Rome’s most powerful defenders in order to preserve their own power.  While the audience might not like Volumnia and may find her overbearing, they cannot help but admire her indomitable will and her strength of character, and Menenius is both likeable and respectable, genuinely concerned about the fate of Rome, representing the ideal of a benevolent governing class destined to rule from birth.  What can be seen as the strength of tradition in an older generation like Volumnia and Menenius, however, is reduced to grossest pride when embodied in the younger form of Coriolanus.  A representative of the oligarchy forced to deal with increasing democratic power, Coriolanus is unwilling to compromise his beliefs, and is in turn broken by the newly empowered commons.  Tom Hiddleston does a brilliant job of bringing the soldier to life, and making even his abhorrent hatred of the common people seem reasonable and natural because of his situation.  He is also able to compellingly demonstrate subtleties in Coriolanus’ character; his love for his wife, his affection and respect for his mother, his respect for Aufidius as a soldier and his disdain for the tribunes as voices of the people, and bring together these various aspects into a single personality in whom the uncompromising character is both natural and admirable.  It is easy to see why those who know Coriolanus call him “Mars among men;” he, like the Roman deities, is a force, unable to act out of reason, but driven on by the sheer force of his personality, the physical embodiment of a single characteristic: what it is to be a great soldier.  Born into a warrior class, raised with the expectation of military glory, and shaped in the crucible of many wars, Coriolanus’ nature has been refined into a draught so powerful it cannot be diluted by watery words of wisdom from his friends, or even by his own reason.  And so the play draws on towards its dramatic conclusion, leaving the viewer with the terrifying belief that the hero had no choice; there is no way in which he could have acted other than as he did, any more than it is possible for lightning to strike other than the highest point.  In this way, he is the epitome of the classical hero: his greatest strength is also his deepest flaw, and by nurturing the one, he strengthens the other, enabling him to reach heights of greatest glory before flinging him down into the depths of tragedy and death. 

While most of the performances in Coriolanus were excellent, there were one or two that, especially in the contrast with the brilliance of their fellow performers, fell flat.  The first of these was Hadley Fraser as Aufidius.  Aufidius is a confusing character in the play; beginning as Coriolanus archenemy, then becoming his friend and ally, only to betray him in the final act of the play.  Part of this confusion can be clarified by understanding the intimacy of ancient warfare, and the relationship developed between soldiers as they faced each other in a personal struggle between life and death.  It is easy to understand how such men, who feel they have come to know each other across the points of swords, could come to be good friends outside of a battle.  This aspect, however, is never clearly emphasized in the play, causing Aufidius’ acceptance of Coriolanus to seem either a momentary hint of madness, or a despicable play to cause, not merely the death of his enemy, but the most violent and painful death he could envisage.  If all he sought was Coriolanus’ death, why pretend to be his friend, when Coriolanus obviously asked his help expecting and resigned to being killed?  His motivations, unlink those of the other characters, are not developed beyond the scope of the play, and thus, seem uncertain and shallow in comparison.

The second performance that was decidedly disappointing was Birgitte Hjort Sørensen as Virgilia.  While Coriolanus’ wife is not as strongly written a character as his mother, it is entirely possible to develop her into such a character.  Prolonged exposure to the strong presence of Volumnia, along with the struggle of coping with the loss of her husband could have created strength of character within Virgilia that would then have emerged in her confrontation with Coriolanus at the end of the play.  Instead, the character is left annoyingly flat: her only purpose seemingly to walk around the stage crying, and to kiss Coriolanus whenever he comes by.  It is no great feat of acting.  Indeed, half the girls in the audience of the show were thinking to themselves, “I can cry and kiss as well as the next girl… why not me in the next show?”  All around, it was a lackluster performance that failed to produce in the audience any affinity with or concern for the character.

I will finish by noting that this play is not for everyone.  The extremely graphic nature of the violence in the story is upsetting for those who are unused to the sight of blood in a dramatic production.  The play is long, requiring an intermission partway through, and because the modern ear is not used to Shakespearian language, it can sometimes be difficult to understand.  I would recommend reading the play before going to view it, if only to have an acquaintance with the main characters and the basic plot.  At the same time, if you are considering seeing the play because you admire the work of Tom Hiddleston or Mark Gatiss, or any of the other actors, but you are hesitating because it is Shakespeare, I would wholeheartedly recommend you go.  The greatest part of any Shakespeare play is seeing it performed, and when you know and admire an actor performing in that play, it provides a point of entry, a piece of the familiar as it were, to guide you into an unfamiliar culture or language.  Allow the brilliant performance of these actors to pull you in, and you may find yourself beginning to enjoy the wider world of Shakespeare.