Certain story descriptors have innate connotations these days. "Melodrama" is usually used as a pejorative and the adjective "epic" is inherently perceived as an acclamation. The quirk of the Narnia books is that they are not epic--adventurous, yes, exciting, whimsical and funny and meaningful, but not epic. They are smaller, more personal stories, more involved with the characters' wonder at their fantastical escapism. This movie, on the other hand, insists that every plot point and interaction MUST be grandiose and dramatic and sweeping and full of portent--an approach that is at odds with the story. Santa Claus shows up, for God's sake, can't this just be fun?
I think, in a post-Return-of-the-King Best Picture win, Andrew Adamson saw this film as an opportunity to transition from a director of animated comedies to a "real" director. Of course I think animation directors ought to be taken more seriously, just like directors who primarily work in comedy or horror--a great film is a great film regardless of genre or format--but that isn't the case, unfortunately, and Lewis's classic novel fell victim to this struggle for equity. Unlike the irreverent Shrek films, which took nothing seriously (yet still had heart), LW&W takes everything too seriously, and prestige-ifies the heart right out of the story. The opening tries desperately to convince us of its dramatic import with a sequence of the Luftwaffe bombing London--ah yes, a depiction of wartime, this must indeed be potent stuff. Never mind that in the book the bombing is only mentioned to provide background as to why the Pevensie children are staying in the house of an eccentric professor. There could be myriad justifications for them to wind up in the house with the magical wardrobe of the title. It's not a story about the fallout of PTSD and the way children who have experienced the effects of war can work out their trauma in some kind of metaphorical Fantasia--not to say that isn't a great story idea, and I'm sure there exist many books that cover such a theme, but in this film it's a half-baked thesis that never really goes anywhere or finds any kind of satisfying fulfillment. Not to mention the climactic battle sequence (which, again, takes up perhaps two pages in the book, but Lord of the Rings gave us battle sequences that were awe-inducing in scope, so let's make it half an hour long because apparently that's what fantasy movies are obliged to do) works against this interpretation, showing only the glory and excitement and righteousness of wartime conflict while illustrating none of the devastation, bleakness, and moral ambiguity.
Taken on its own terms, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is, I suppose...functional. It's an entertaining property, if often a bit silly in its dire earnestness. It's not badly made; there's much artistry in the sets and props, even if Adamson failed to distinguish the overall visual scheme of the movie as anything other than derivative. The performances are good. The special effects range from "effective" to "middle-grade", even considering the time at which this was made. And that song from Imogen Heap that plays over the credits at least lends a distinctively wondrous note to the proceedings--even if it is too little too late.
I think, in a post-Return-of-the-King Best Picture win, Andrew Adamson saw this film as an opportunity to transition from a director of animated comedies to a "real" director. Of course I think animation directors ought to be taken more seriously, just like directors who primarily work in comedy or horror--a great film is a great film regardless of genre or format--but that isn't the case, unfortunately, and Lewis's classic novel fell victim to this struggle for equity. Unlike the irreverent Shrek films, which took nothing seriously (yet still had heart), LW&W takes everything too seriously, and prestige-ifies the heart right out of the story. The opening tries desperately to convince us of its dramatic import with a sequence of the Luftwaffe bombing London--ah yes, a depiction of wartime, this must indeed be potent stuff. Never mind that in the book the bombing is only mentioned to provide background as to why the Pevensie children are staying in the house of an eccentric professor. There could be myriad justifications for them to wind up in the house with the magical wardrobe of the title. It's not a story about the fallout of PTSD and the way children who have experienced the effects of war can work out their trauma in some kind of metaphorical Fantasia--not to say that isn't a great story idea, and I'm sure there exist many books that cover such a theme, but in this film it's a half-baked thesis that never really goes anywhere or finds any kind of satisfying fulfillment. Not to mention the climactic battle sequence (which, again, takes up perhaps two pages in the book, but Lord of the Rings gave us battle sequences that were awe-inducing in scope, so let's make it half an hour long because apparently that's what fantasy movies are obliged to do) works against this interpretation, showing only the glory and excitement and righteousness of wartime conflict while illustrating none of the devastation, bleakness, and moral ambiguity.
Taken on its own terms, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is, I suppose...functional. It's an entertaining property, if often a bit silly in its dire earnestness. It's not badly made; there's much artistry in the sets and props, even if Adamson failed to distinguish the overall visual scheme of the movie as anything other than derivative. The performances are good. The special effects range from "effective" to "middle-grade", even considering the time at which this was made. And that song from Imogen Heap that plays over the credits at least lends a distinctively wondrous note to the proceedings--even if it is too little too late.
