Dragonwyck

 I guess I've been in a Gothic mood lately, with the 1949 version of The Secret Garden and then Frankenstein because I just finished watching Dragonwyck (1946), starring Gene Tierney and the inimitable Vincent Price. It's based on a novel by Anya Seton which I have not read, but I'm interested in reading it now.

The story centers on a  young woman named Miranda, who lives on a simple farm in Connecticut with her God-fearing parents and sister. One day the family receives a letter from a distant cousin-by-marriage, inviting the family to send one of the daughters to New York, to be a governess and companion to their child (reminiscent of Jane Eyre). Miranda convinces her parents to let her go, and she meets her distant relative Nicholas Van Ryn, who is descended from the original Dutch settlers of the Hudson Valley. He brings her to his huge, castle-like estate named Dragonwyck, where she is enamored by the luxurious appointments, many servants and high-society parties.

But of course, there is mystery and deception lurking beneath the stylish ballgowns and antique tapestries. When she arrives, the housekeeper observes to her "You like being waited on.  . .you like peaches out of season.  .  .you like the feel of silk sheets against your young body.  .  .but one day you will wish with all your heart you'd never come to Dragonwyck."

She comes to realize that the Van Ryn family is loveless and focused on their outward appearance to society, and Nicholas has other intentions towards her.

He resents his wife because she was unable to bear him a son, and he resents his daughter Catrine simply because she is not a son. Catrine is agreeable with Miranda, but admits there is no love between her and her parents.

Of course, no Gothic romance/drama would be complete without a couple deaths, an ill-timed mariage proposal and arguments about God versus the arrogance of man.

Overall, I enjoyed the film, and you really can't go wrong when it comes to Vincent Price.

Tomi: a Childhood Under the Nazis

 I just finished reading Tomi: A Childhood Under the Nazis last night. 

I've been kind of on a Tomi Ungerer kick the last couple months, ever since one of the teachers requested his book The Three Robbers. We didn't have it in the collection (or any of his others) so I made it a point to order several of them, and I've been promoting them to the students.

I'm not sure if I knew any of his stories when I was a child; Moon Man kind of looked familiar when I read the book in graduate school (seems like forever ago) but most of them were new to me.

Not only did I fall in love with his illustrations, but I made a point of reading the books first to my niece when she was little, and then to my son when he was little.

What is it about his pictures? Is it the bold colors?

Is it the expressive faces on the characters?

Is it the emotional depth?

(I have always loved this illustration of the lady feeding baby Crictor with a bottle)

Whatever it is, his memoir of his childhood in Alsace (a region of France) clarifies the impact his childhood during the Nazi regime had on his artisitic style and skill. Of course, it also fueled his anti-censorship views (which I was lucky enough to hear him speak about at the Eric Carle museum, many years ago), as well as his picturebook Otto. Otto is a teddy bear that is separated from his Jewish owner; he survives the war and is miraculously reuinted with his owner decades later.

                                            

In Ungerer's memoir, he recounts two incidents of book banning. First, when the Germans moved into Alsace, the kids were given wagons and they were supposed to go from house to house, collecting books that were in French.

After the war, books that were German were rounded up and taken away, as the region struggled to recover and reclaim their heritage, which just proves the point that more than one group of people can be trying to ban books, and the struggle librarians are facing right now is often coming at us from at least two sides, if not more.

The book is a valuable resource for anyone interested in children's literature, or art, or history. It contains an impressive number of original illustrations from young Tomi, including his early attempts to copy well-known characters like Mickey Mouse,  some of his school assignments which document the Nazis' indoctrination of children (one assignment was "Draw a Jew" and another has an inscription from a teacher telling him the swastikas are not big enough) as well as his own cartoons which depict scenes of war, and his own mocking portraits of German soldiers.

Aside from being a study of a time during which people were at their worst, a sense of optimism pervades the text because many people refused to give in and showed their resistance in subtle ways. It inspires some hope that during our current time, when many people are in fear, that the darkness cannot last forever.

Colleen Moore's Fairy Castle

 Over December break, we took a quick trip out to Chicago. We hadn't been there before, and we had tickets to see Phantom of the Opera on stage (my 3rd time, Eric's 2nd time, and John's first time seeing it).

While we were in the city, we had a long list of all the places we wanted to go and see, but the top of mine was the Museum of Industry, and that is because of the incredible dollhouse inside it.

Colleen Moore was an actress in the 20s, who became pretty successful in the silent films of the era. She had the classic flapper look like Clara Bow and Louise Brooks:

She had a lifelong love of dolls and miniatures, so when she started becoming successful, her father suggested that she use some of her newfound money to commission a dollhouse that would be a real work of art. So, she did. She hired architects and master builders to create a medieval style castle.

  

The castle has an art noveau, fairy tale aesthetic, and pays homage to famous stories such as Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, The Wizard of Oz, and more.Indeed, the tiny library inside has real books written by noted authors such as  F Scott Fitzgerald and George Bernard Shaw.

The rooms inside are nothing short of extraordinary! My pictures don't do them justice:

I could have stayed in that room all day, looking at all the details and getting inspired.

My dream is that someday, my Great Gatsby mansion will be on display somewhere, with people marveling at the detail and craftsmanship, and literary influence.

It was also validating to see such an incredible work of art, which is meant to inspire not just imagination, but play, and think that you don't have to outgrow dolls, or toys in general.

I read something recently that was along the lines of "growing up doesn't mean becoming a different person, it's returning to the person you were before societal pressure, limitations and fear shaped your identity."

Thoughts on Frankenstein, and his kin

I guess that Jane Eyre-ish Secret Garden movie got me in a Gothic mood.  .  .

Last night (and this morning) I watched Guillermo Del Toro's Frankenstein.

I didn't really know much about this particular adaptation so I had no expectations, nor reservations beforehand. The opening scenes in the North Pole had me a little confused; "Did I click on the right movie? Do Frankenstein and Santa live in the same neighborhood?"

BTW- I know thisis Herman Munster, but more on him later.

But as I settled into the story, I could see why the frozen, desolate landscape of the Arctic was appropriate for it. This recent adaptation tells us not just how the monster was made, but how Dr. Frankenstein himself was created; his formative years shaping his pursuit of knowledge and obsession with conquering death. This fits the common conclusion that the Dr.  himself is more monster than his creation.

However, this version also gives us a story from the monster's point of view. His confusion and yearning for affection in the beginning of his 'life', followed by the shame and frustration when he failed  to achieve the Dr.'s expectations. When the Dr. attempts to destroy him, he escapes through the waterway and it's a rebirth for him; he discovers the pleasure that comes from caring for others, and having them care for you in return. He reads books and learns to express himself. It is his desire to have an unbreakable bond with someone that leads him to seek out his creator again, only to be rejected, again.

The film is beautifully presented; rich colors like crimson and emerald green representing Life (blood) and Nature (Earth) contrasted with the stark shades of black and gray in the laboratory, and the arctic landscape, which illustrate loneliness and profound sense of lacking.

The costumes are absolutely stunning

I tried to remember what my first exposure to Frankenstein was, and the earliest version I can think of watching, and knowing what I was seeing, was the faithful father figure in The Munsters, one of the many old TV shows I watched on Nick at Nite as a kid. I knew Herman was supposed to look like 'Frankenstein' but obviously I had not read the book, or seen any movie versions yet. The next version I can remember is the 1984 Tim Burton film Frankenweenie. I used to love renting this movie from our local movie rental place. Again, I knew it was supposed to be like Frankenstein, but I didn't have direct knowledge of the source material. I just loved the idea of being able to bring a beloved pet back to life (and not in the terrifying Pet Sematary kind of way).

The 1984 version is so good- I can't bring myself to watch the  2012 one

Tonight I decided to watch the classic 1931 version; I have seen it in bits and pieces over the years, but I wanted to watch it from start to finish so I could compare the two. The 1931 version is a more straight-forward telling of the story, with the viewer on the outside watching the Dr. make his monster. We don't get any backstory or insight on either.

It's become kind of an expectation for audiences now to get some kind of backstory on our villains; we want to see what made them the way they are. Like, why is the Witch of the West so Wicked? Guillermo Del Toro's version does justice to the stories of both monsters.

One thing about this version is the absence of The Bride of Frankenstein, and I would love to see this story with a feminist point of view, but I won't have to wait long because The Bride! (directed by Maggie Gyllenhaal) is coming out the first week in March. That story looks like a highly-stylized version that examines the idea of woman being created, for a man, by a man. It's titled The Bride! to put emphasis on her, and remove the indicator that she is 'of' a male, rejecting that Handmaiden's Tale type of reality.

I guess before then I will have to make a point to watch the 1935 version, so I'll be ready to compare them.

The Secret Garden (1949)

I finally got around to watching the 1949 version of The Secret Garden. This was the first film version that was not a silent movie.

I heard about this  version in a podcast episode of Beneath the Hollywood Sign, which discusses classic film. That episode was devoted to stories that featured very bratty children. One of the hosts brough this movie up and while I agree that Mary Lennox is not a very agreeable child, I didn't see her characterization here much worse than the 1993 version that I grew up watching.

The story is mostly in black and white, which lends itself well to the tone of the dispiriting mansion located on the desolate moors. The wind howls, the candle lights flicker, and shadows seem to play tricks with your mind. It feels more Bronte than Burnett.

The mood inside the house is contrasted by the technicolor scenes inside the garden's walls. The movie was made a decade after The Wizard of Oz, but it definitely utilizes the same effect because the aim is to transport the viewer to another world.

I enjoyed it because it's one of my favorite stories, but it's not a movie I see myself re-watching anytime soon. It didn't seem to have the emotional depth of the 1993; it was just actors walking me through the story's events.

I looked to see if the 1918 version is available anywhere, but it's unfortunately a lost film.