An Evening with Netflix

I watched two movies on Netflix today. They were both strange and wonderful at the same time, though one more than the other in each category.

The first was Alice. It was strange. More strange than wonderful. I'm the first person who loves absolute creepy weirdness, but only if it has a purpose in the end. For instance, let me tell you the story of the video game Silent Hill and its successive installments.

In the first game, and in many of its sequels, the monsters in the game are symbols from the minds/environments of the main characters. The shadow children represent Alessa's schoolmates who were mean to her, flying monsters represent the butterflies she collected, the evil nurses were from the hospital she was kept in, etc. The monsters had a purpose. As the series progressed, the monsters were still scary but lacked symbolism. A monster with what looks like a hammer for a head in the fifth game is a stretch since the story ends *spoiler* with death in a lake. A lake. No hammerhead sharks there, I hate to tell the writers. By this time in the series, I had become disillusioned with the games because I felt like the writers were going more for shock and gore than for metaphor.

This is how I felt with Alice. I'm sure someone far smarter or more artistic than I am will be shouting about how symbolic a crib with vulture wings and claws is, but I don't see how it fits into the story of Alice in Wonderland. I think it's hellacool to have an animal skull with a body that is a glass jar go crawling across the floor in pursuit of Alice, a la that beautifully terrifying penultimate scene in the move Freaks, but why a jar? Because Alice drinks from a jar in the story? Why an animal skull, then? The utter creepiness of the White Rabbit being the world's most disturbing puppet is worth watching but in the end I just find myself scratching my head. I want to like the film for being so gutsy, and I want to believe Lewis Carroll would find it incredibly artistic, but I just felt disappointed.

The second film was In the Realms of the Unreal. This one was more wonderful than strange. This is the story of an eccentric man named Henry Darger who wrote what is believed the longest piece of fiction ever. 15,000+ pages. It's an incredible allegory. I mean, the symbolism is unreal (did you like that pun, you-know-who) - by which I mean it's quite beautiful. The struggle he depicts, which through notes in his journal we come to understand represents the struggles within himself, is just amazing. I have one question for anyone who might be doing more research on him:

Was there, possibly, a young girl named Vivian Darger adopted at the time Henry's sister was taken away? Because there must be a reason the little heroine girls have the last name "Vivian." It is said early in the film that Henry remembers nothing about her...but possibly he remembers, just vaguely, her appearance and name, which is why he is obsessed with little blonde girls and why he gives his characters that moniker. I think this is quite obvious.

It's a sad yet brilliant film to watch. I wish I had the money to buy the book about it. I don't, probably not in this decade. I highly recommend this movie to anyone though I will warn - there is animated nudity and Darger walks the line of the pedophile. I don't think he was thinking of the little girls in any way other than angels, but it's slightly disturbing, so be warned.