Image by TANATOS 330 from Pixabay “I’m tired, boss…Mostly, I’m tired of people being ugly to each other.” – John Coffey (played by Michael Clarke Duncan) “One person's craziness is another person's reality.” – Tim Burton As a teacher, I always love when my English students choose a novel like Sherman Alexie’s “Flight” to read because I thoroughly enjoy exposing them to the subgenre of “magical realism.” Not only do I love explaining to them what it is, but why it can be such an effective approach to storytelling.
That being said, there appears to be a lack of analysis and dissection of “magical realism” as a subgenre of film. And this saddens me. So why not add to the endless abyss that is the Internet by diving headfirst into several movies that (in my humble opinion) fit the definition of “magical realism” in an effort to better understand how this type of storytelling can make a good movie great. Of course, we have to start with laying out a definition of “magical realism” as a type of fiction. Unlike past blogs where I have relied on others’ definitions, such as the anti-war film and the neo-Western, I want to put forth my own idea of what “magical realism” is. Simply put, a story that is “magical realism” is a story that incorporates fantastical or supernatural elements to explore themes and convey ideas that are, in contrast, realistically universal. It is a story that relies on the seeming contradiction of using a lack of realism to come off as very grounded. I tend to be fascinated with subgenres of films like this that utilize inherent contradictions of storytelling in an effort to both captivate the audience and effectively tap into some universal moral or truth. But the apparent lack of devotion to understanding how effective “magical realist” movies can be motivates me to explore the question: Why? So, without further ado…LET’S GET STARTED!! [NOTE: This blog contains spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Field of Dreams (1989) As someone who is not a fan of sports as a medium of entertainment, I tend to be skeptical before viewing any sports movie new to me. With Field of Dreams, I was not only hesitant because of its heavy focus on baseball but also due to what I feared would be an overly sentimental, “mushy” kind of movie that just never made me feel anything by the end. For the uninitiated, Fields of Dreams tells the story of Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner) who lives a simple life as a corn farmer in Iowa with his wife and daughter but is tormented by his troubled relationship with his late father and is concerned he will never amount to anything in life. But when he hears a disembodied voice in the middle of the night telling him, “If you build it, he will come,” followed by a vision of the deceased baseball player “Shoeless” Joe Jackson (Ray Liotta), Ray is compelled to turn his cornfield into a full-scale baseball diamond. Later on, Ray seeks out famed-author-turned-recluse Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones) whom the voice he believes is referring to, and he learns of Mann’s childhood obsession with baseball (as Ray’s father was). Ultimately, Ray’s baseball diamond comes to represent peoples’ desire to relive their innocence from childhood that has since been lost. That alone could have played well enough for a decent supernatural fantasy story. But it offers a much deeper, and universal, message about forgiveness and rekindling frayed relationships. The film resolves with a younger version of Ray’s father appearing on the diamond and agreeing to play catch with his son as people show up from all directions to watch long-dead baseball stars play the game that is often called: “America’s pastime.” This was such an unexpected joy of a viewing experience for me. Going on dreading the excessive sentimentality and lack of forward momentum, Field of Dreams defies such expectations by successfully offering a compelling story about a man seeking to make amends with his past through achieving a dream of his father’s (which, ultimately, becomes his own dream as well). And I was certain that the protagonist seeing dead baseball players and hearing a voice in his head (arguably the voice of God) as storytelling devices would come off as cheap and absurd, it actually worked with the emotional payoff of Ray spending time with his father. As an example of magical realism, Field of Dreams may not be the best of the best. But it does a really good job of blending fantastical elements into a grounded story that puts human emotions and experiences at its core. Furthermore, its metaphorical use of baseball as a microcosm of American culture and an exploration of dreams versus reality was ultimately satisfying (if not entirely necessary). Edward Scissorhands (1990) While I am certainly not the biggest fan of Tim Burton’s cinematic style and sensibilities, I appreciate his approach to storytelling and understand why some people do love so many of his movies, from the superhero progenitor Batman to the horror musical Sweeney Todd. But for me, the standout of his filmography is the 1990 fantasy drama Edward Scissorhands. The story of Edward Scissorhands is essentially a more creative and subversive retelling of the “Frankenstein” story. In this film, the eponymous protagonist (Johnny Depp), whose hands were made into scissors by his creator (Vincent Price) and is left alone to fend for himself in a hilltop castle outside a quasi-1950s suburban neighborhood. While selling Avon door-to-door, one of the town’s residents Peg Boggs (Dianne Wiest) discovers Edward and offers to bring him to her home. It takes very little time for Edward to acclimate into suburban life, despite some ridiculous mishaps and awkward first meetings, but eventually the townspeople start to feel threatened by Edward and his sharp hands (despite his gentle and kind demeanor). While trying to successfully assimilate into the community, Edward develops a romantic bond with Peg’s daughter Kim (Winona Ryder). Perhaps this isn’t obvious to other people, but to me the plot of Edward Scissorhands should not work one iota. For one thing, it is a blatant homage to Frankenstein that constantly teeters on the line of becoming a straight-up parody. Also, the central performance from Depp is uncharacteristically reserved given some of his more recent leading-man outings from Pirates of the Caribbean to Alice in Wonderland which, for some fans of his, will find disappointing. And yet, within the first twenty minutes of the film, I was hooked and kept wanting to see the ways in which Burton would ground the “Frankenstein” tale into a 20th-century culture of suburbia. For me, that is what works about the movie both as a smart and innovative homage to Frankenstein and an excellent example of magical realism. Notably, the story’s highlighting of Edward using his deformed hands to try and gain acceptance among the neighbors of the Boggs family is very fun and a great device for characterization. Not only is it the catalyst for much of the good and bad things that happen to him in the movie, but how the scissor-hands serve as an incredibly effective metaphor for Edward’s evolving view of himself and his potential for both graceful connection with other people and utter destruction. At its core, however, Edward Scissorhands is a story about tolerance. By making Edward an actual character rather than a pale comparison to the mute, emotionless Frankenstein, his presence in the suburbs and how its various residents react to him show the moral complexities of this kind of American culture regarding how people adapt to changes in their home environments. While initially well-received by many of the townsfolk, a few missteps on Edward’s part (but mostly misunderstandings) are all that are needed to reveal peoples’ deep-seated fear of the unknown that can so quickly and viciously transform into hatred, prejudice, and a desire to commit violence on that which they fear. Am I taking the story of Edward Scissorhands too seriously? Perhaps, but I don’t care! Not only is it my favorite Tim Burton flick, but it’s also one of my favorite 90s movies and (in my humble opinion) one of the best showcases of how films can utilize magical realism to impressive effect. The Green Mile (1999) Similar to some of my favorite films of all time, from Star Wars and The Shawshank Redemption to Titanic, every time I rewatch Frank Darabont’s The Green Mile it feels like I am watching it for the first time. If that’s not a sign of a fantastic movie, I don’t know what is. This film, based on Stephen King’s 1996 novel of the same name, tells the story of Paul Edgecomb (Tom Hanks) and his time as a death row corrections officer in Maine during the Great Depression. Specifically, he relates his experiences with a particular inmate: John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan), a black man wrongly accused of raping and murdering two white girls. But there is much more to Coffey than meets the eye. I wish I could reveal nothing more about the plot of The Green Mile, but in order to flesh it out as an excellent example of magical realism I must spoilt the movie. So, if you’d rather watch the film first to avoid knowing anything else, I highly suggest you do. This movie is special enough to deserve not being spoiled for you. If the supernatural elements were removed from the story entirely, The Green Mile would still be (in my humble opinion) one of the best film adaptations of King’s writing and one of the best films of the 1990s. For one thing, it works very well as an ensemble character study highlighting the complex relationships between the prisoners on death row (Michael Jeter, Sam Rockwell) and the guards charged with their care and discipline (David Morse, Doug Hutchison, Barry Pepper, Jeffrey DeMunn). Easily the standout performances in both of these groups are Rockwell as the insane psychopath “Wild Bill” Wharton and Hutchison as the sadistic, power-hungry prison guard Percy Wetmore. The Green Mile also works very well as a social commentary on the moral efficacy of the death penalty. Sure, the film includes a character “Wild Bill” to offer a defense of its necessity. But as the audience we get to know Delcroix as a decent man who perhaps deserves to be in prison but not death. And Coffey’s innocence makes it all but obvious that he in no way should have the hand he has been dealt. And yet all of them meet their end, either by the electric chair or on death row itself. The film’s narrative never focuses explicitly on this moral conundrum until the climax that is Coffey’s execution, and thus serves as a great example of social commentary done right. In other words, if the narrative can be enjoyed without paying attention to the exploration of this sociopolitical controversy, then it is effective commentary in that respect. Needless to say, the film works well without Coffey revealing himself as an angel of God. But this extra, supernatural layer onto his character and the overarching narrative makes The Green Mile more than just a compelling, character-driven drama. Rather, it is one of my favorite examples of how film as a medium can adopt the conventions of magical realist storytelling to incredible effect. With this added layer, the moral depravity of Coffey’s execution is so powerful that it serves as a great metaphor about how a society that claims to be just can earnestly legitimize the government-sanctioned killing of someone like Coffey. Set aside his innocence; he is a good person. For a movie to make the existence of an angel on Earth both palpable and relevant to social commentary, there can be only high praise for it. Of course, this plays into Paul’s story as well. For Paul is shattered by having to oversee Coffey’s execution to the point that he resigns from death row. But the life that Coffey gave him may not be a gift at all, he believes, but a divine punishment for allowing Coffey to die per his command. Thus, not only is Coffey’s supernatural benevolence an effective device for exploring the death penalty, but the double-edged sword that is Paul’s existence serves as a compelling examination of how we pay for the wrongs in our life no matter how much we regret them. I could dedicate an entire blog to The Green Mile, but I would rather leave the beauty of its details to the eye of the beholder. If you haven’t seen this film, please take the time to do so. You will not be disappointed. Stranger than Fiction (2006) I honestly did not know what to expect when I decided to watch Marc Forster’s fantasy dramedy Stranger than Fiction. While I have enjoyed various comedic performances from Will Ferrell (Talladega Nights, The Other Guys), I was quite nervous about him starring in a more dramatic role. Furthermore, I was unsure of how this film would pull off such a meta-concept as the main character in a story becoming aware of the falseness of his reality. Simply put, Stranger than Fiction is the journey of everyman Harold Crick (Ferrell) slowly coming to the realization that he is a fictional character in the newest work by famed author Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson) whose claim to fame is killing off her protagonists. In the process of trying to prevent his seemingly inevitable demise, Crick seeks out the help of literature professor Jules Hilbert (Dustin Hoffman) to figure out who the author is and try to convince them to save Crick’s life. If it sounds trippy and strange, that’s because it is. Stranger than Fiction is such a great example of metafiction because it addresses the questions: “What if the main character of a story learned who they were?” and “What if this realization caused that character to have an existential crisis and interact with people in the real world?” However, this immediately allows the form of storytelling to be just as affected by Crick’s actions as the narrative itself. Once Crick realizes the essence of his existence, the film blends reality and fiction to the point of provoking a new question: “If Harold can interact with real people, including the author that created him, then what is real and what is not?” Of course, this question is the foundation of the concept known as “suspension of disbelief.” For when we consume any story, from novels to films, we as the audience subconsciously reject our instinct to question the reality of what we are reading (unless the story is bad, in which case the reality that the story’s creator has made begins to crumble and fall apart). Therefore, Stranger than Fiction takes magical realism to a different and challenging level of not just being about storytelling but exploring what storytelling is through puncturing the fragile boundary in our minds between reality and fiction from the get-go. And what ideas is it exploring through this unique form? At its core, the film is about people (in this case Crick) appreciating their place in a larger world and being inspired to live life to the fullest. In many other movies that tackle this message, it can easily succumb to the temptations of camp or overt sentimentality. But the brilliant approach of the creative minds behind Stranger than Fiction avoid such traps to tell an earnest story about one man learning to enjoy the little things that life offers without taking them for granted. On the basis of its creative premise alone, I recommend this movie. But more than that, it pulls off its themes gracefully and powerfully. Midnight in Paris (2011) While by no means a diehard Woody Allen fan, I have come to enjoy several of his movies since watching them over the past year-and-a-half. I was thoroughly impressed by 1977’s Annie Hall, and enjoyed the ride of 1985’s The Purple Rose of Cairo and 1987’s Radio Days. But, for me, his best film without question is the fantasy comedy Midnight in Paris. The film follows screenwriter Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) during his vacation in Paris with his wife Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her parents. While choosing to spend time alone in the city one night, Gil is magically transported to the 1920s and begins interacting with famed “Jazz Age” artists from Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll) and F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston) to Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates). He finds that he prefers the company of these deceased creative minds over his wife in the modern world, and his repeated journeys into the past force him to confront the underlying problems in his marriage as well as his nostalgia-fueled fixation on the past. By no means is Midnight in Paris a masterpiece. But it is a great example of magical realism as it utilizes time travel in a way that so many movies of the past few decades have not. It’s less plot-focused and more character-driven since the nightly journeys into the past that Gil takes are about escaping to a time that he feels better suits him. But they are also about leaving his problems behind in an effort to ignore them out of preference for living for nostalgia rather than being in the moment. Gil’s character arc in the film is centered on these ideas, and Allen’s use of traveling into the past for this kind of story is both enjoyable and thematically fulfilling. Even if you’re not a huge fan of Allen’s other movies (or Allen himself), I think that Midnight in Paris is still worth the watch. If nothing else, it’s fun to see Owen Wilson give a great performance while interacting with famous dead people. Birdman (2014) To end with a truly great film, we have the dramatic black comedy Birdman. Directed by the supremely talented Alejandro González Iñárritu (Biutiful, The Revenant), this movie is about the efforts of a middle-aged struggling actor Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton) to prove himself a true artist by directing and starring in his very own Broadway production. However, the specter of his past Hollywood career as the superhero “Birdman” hangs over him (literally) as many obstacles cross his path. Needless to say, things go anyway but smoothly. Whereas Stranger than Fiction was a meta-approach to storytelling, Birdman employs meta-casting with Keaton in the title role. Due to his past career being largely defined by his portrayal of Bruce Wayne/Batman in two flicks directed by Tim Burton, Keaton’s raw, emotional performance is captivating from start to finish. What he is able to do with displaying a near-psychotic dual conscience wherein he is constantly trying to push away his “Birdman” alter ego makes for such an engrossing character study. For what makes Birdman a prime example of magical realism is how it examines the existential nature of acting. Thomson’s inner struggle throughout the film is one defined by a powerful fear that his play will fail and that his career will be over. But it’s even more than that; it is Thomson’s fear that his failure will prove he is not―and never will be―a real artist. And having to fend his inner demon that is “Birdman” symbolizes his struggle with this existential crisis about what it will take to succeed and how much he is willing to risk for his art and his reputation. So, what is it about “magical realism” that fits so well with film as a medium of storytelling? I think its essence as a subgenre that uses the fantastical to hook the audience in for a story about the realistic is what makes it such fun. We’ve seen movies that fit within this subgenre tackle some pretty serious topics and big ideas, from the death penalty in The Green Mile to the price of success in Birdman. Anytime a storyteller can provoke critical thinking and self-reflection by subverting the audience’s need to suspend disbelief, you tend to be in for one hell of a story. What is your opinion about magical realist cinema? What magical realist film that I did not write about is worth watching? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst
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Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
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