Why Can't Life Be More Like The Movies?

It was Shakespeare who said "All the World's a stage, and all the men and women on it merely players". Were he writing today though, he'd probably have to modify his wording a bit :"All the world's a sound stage, and all the men and women in it merely CGI copies".
Well, maybe it's not quite as synthetic a medium as that yet, but it's quite astounding what has been achieved in the world of cinema even in the past ten years, through the development of computer techniques and digital imaging. Nineteenth-Century Fox (Talbot) would be incredulous as to what the mighty megabyte has managed to do to his humble exercises with light. It's truly an industry full of magic thanks to technology, as if it hasn't always been.

It's rare to find a movie these days where the name of George Lucas's benchmark-setting digital effects company hasn't had a hand. The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe is no exception. But can ILM do anything about the awful British climate and the general gloom in early January, once the magic of the Christmas lights has disappeared for another year, apart from the odd tree which some council contractor has forgotten to de-luminate? Probably not, but thank heavens their handiwork, and that of talented directors, can bring a little sparkle into the glumness which afflicts me and many others this time of the year.

After church this Sunday morning, I decided it was high time I went to see this long-awaited epic adaptation of the C S Lewis Classic which fired my imagination and illuminated many a childhood day for me. Dashing down to my local children's library to catch up with the adventures of the Pevensie children was a highlight of that wonderful period of young life when nothing is impossible and the only limits are determined by your mind's horizon. Thirty-seven or so years later though, could the magic and the message be conveyed just as well by the silver screen (or whatever other material they make them from these days)?

I needn't have worried. Although I confess there was the odd moment when I was dozing off - but then that's what I always do on a Sunday afternoon- this was 140 minutes of sheer enchantment and creative genius which C S Lewis would, I'm sure, have been proud to put his name to. The mere fact that his stepson Douglas Gresham is co-producer must say something for the faithfulness of the cinematic adaptation to the spirit of his original.

Quite apart from the digital imagery which created battle scenes claiming to be among the most fantastic ever seen on screen, or animals vivified by the combined power of the animators' art and the voice talents of such luminaries as Dawn French and Ray Winstone, the performances of the juvenile cast were scene-stealing. Georgie Henley, no more than 9 when the film was shot, captivates as little Lucy in a way I've seldom seen a junior achieve and which for me was one of the most memorable performances in a fine film. No less worthy of praise though was the performance of William Moseley as Peter, the eldest of the Pevensey children and a kind of surrogate father to his younger siblings while their father is away fighting in World War II.

But what of the much-mentioned Christian allegorical components of the film, much maligned by humanist critics but equally lauded by many Christian groups? Well, for those looking for them, clearly they were there- though I doubt I would have spotted them as an eight-year old and I suspect few primary schoolers would today either. This is entertainment and fantasy which can be enjoyed as much by believers as by those sad souls who have nothing to believe in their world beyond the existence of the here and now. But young Peter in the story could be as much the life-changed disciple of the Christian accounts as the strong and sensitive hero every child wants to find triumphing in their literature. It doesn't really matter, does it?

Returning to the rain-drenched streets of Feltham after the film was like stepping back through a cupboard door to the dreary reality of everyday life for so many of us. Of having to consider the possibility of new employment, of paying the post-Christmas bills, of finding enough hours in the day to do all those things that need to be done, let alone that which I would most like to do, and particularly to write more. But am I really any different to a million and one other souls around the world every day of their lives who have to face the same issues? Indeed, it can be very easy to overlook the blessings of life in all its fulness, particularly the life redeemed from the nihilist, going nowhere outlook which seems to be the ultimate lot of the non-believer. Eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

Someday, the feasting has to stop, just as Friday brought the official end of the Christmas season in the Western World with Epiphany. There can be no more Turkish Delight for a while. But that's not to say the rejoicing has to stop. Life is there to be lived in all its fulness, and for Christians it's there to be en-joyed, literally filled with joy. C S Lewis was the proponent of this par excellence, particularly when in a marvellous literal irony, he was surprised by joy- both in emotion and the person of the true love he found in his sixties- there's hope for me yet, then!
For when you do count your blessings, indeed you will be surprised by what the Lord has done. Yesterday was another of those moments for me, when dashing over to my local Saturday branch of Barclays desperate to pay some money in to my current account, I discovered that a certain much-coveted "glittering prize" was on display in the branch, and you could have your picture taken with it for a small donation to the Shooting Star Children's hospice. When I moved on for a pot of tea and a frangipan tart in The Bridge centre within Holy Trinity Church, reading about precious young lives likely to be shortened by the grip of serious illness, outside a busker played Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven (qv in this blog's archive), I could do nothing but weep, for them and with them, but count my own blessings indeed.

Well, I may never again be within touching distance of the Barclays Premiership Trophy, although maybe there's a delicious irony that in what little knowledge or understanding I had of soccer as an eight-year old - I couldn't play it for Everton toffees, and perhaps my sensitive little mind was always scarred by the handicap this was in your average class of lively boys- Chelsea were my team. The blues of Stamford Bridge now seem invincible under Ronan Abramovich's bottomless wallet, but I guess like all human institutions, they are destined to fall eventually- certainly that would be the hope of reigning European champions Liverpool, who put up a superb performance in a thrilling F A Cup tie against Luton Town yesterday.

But for those who put their hope in the Lord, life doesn't need to be like a movie with a perfect but fabricated happy ending, nor a long hard slog to re-born Wembley stadium for the cup final in May. Every step of the road can be an adventure every bit as exciting as that enjoyed by Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy. Sure, there will be heartaches, sorrows and struggles along the way, but always there's the promise. Of a strong lion coming again to save all his people, and holding all the attention of all his "audience" for all time, not just two and a half hours on a soggy Sunday. A better script than this has never been written, and I'd rather be an extra in the live movie house of the Lord than on a directorless stage any day.