Cereal Musings

There can be no understanding between the hands and the brain unless the heart acts as mediator
- Fritz Lang, “Metropolis”

Fritz Lang’s silent film Metropolis (1927) is widely feted as a seminal masterpiece of science fiction. However, what strikes me, more than the the focus on technology and special effects, is the essential humanity of the story. I love experimental science fiction as much as the next nerd, but my fav sci-fi always has a humanistic core. I couldn’t find a clip of the portion of Metropolis the above quote came from, so here’s the introduction to the movie instead, which contains a related line: “But the hands that built the Tower of Babel knew nothing of the dream of the brain that had conceived it.”

Lang’s analogy of the heart as mediator between brain and hands reminds me of similar metaphors used by C.S. Lewis in his little book The Abolition of Man, which I slowly ploughed through when I was 12. Lewis is better known nowadays as the author of the Narnia series of books, which have been translated to the big screen, but he’s written plenty of other, more provocative stuff.

He describes the chest as being the mediator between the head (intellect) and the stomach (visceral needs/desires). When the chest (seat of emotions) atrophies, the head no longer controls the rest of the animal. This analogy has the useful side effect of conjuring a grotesque image of a huge head, bloated stomach, and shrivelled chest, like an emaciated human or caricatured extra-terrestrial.

It may even be said that it is by this middle element that man is man: for by his intellect he is mere spirit and by his appetite mere animal

Brain-hands, head-stomach; the problem with both pairs is they perpetuate mind-body dualism, which I don’t think is the healthiest way to look at the world. But it does starkly illustrate the issue of harmony within the self. It also describes how people actually treat themselves and others. Even if dualism is an inaccurate description of reality, if people act based on that mental framework, then a dualistic explanation of human motivation, action and control remains useful in describing motivation, even if it it doesn’t describe things as they actually are.

But dualism - the belief that mind and body are two completely different and opposed elements - may be one of the roots of unkindness. It’s a convenient excuse to say that my heart wants to be kind, but it’s the base body that made me do something nasty. How many times have we heard someone say that they didn’t mean to hurt others, but they couldn’t help deny their physical needs? And then there’s that pernicious line, “The spirit is willing but the body is weak”. What a cop out. Well, the solution then is to have a heart, isn’t it?

Lewis has this to say about heartless people:

It is not excess of thought but defect of fertile and generous emotion that marks them out. Their heads are no bigger than the ordinary: it is the atrophy of the chest beneath that makes them seem so

That’s a tasty bit of civilised invective, I think. Maybe I’ll tuck that away for future use. “You’re no towering intellect - it’s the contrast with your small heart that makes it look that way!”

I think I’ll end with this comment on the perils of starving one’s emotional development:

… famished nature will be avenged, and a hard heart is no infallible protection against a soft head

Dialogue-driven drama can really polarise reactions. Many people I know can’t abide movies where “the people talk too much. Talk talk talk, and no action. So boring. Just shut up and do it lah. Shoot the bugger, or grab the man and find a hotel room”. I beg to differ.

There’s only so much physical emoting you can do. You need dialogue for punctuation, at the very least, even if it’s not a focus. Tom Cruise can ripple his facial muscles all he wants, but if he doesn’t open his mouth, it can quickly become trying.

Ok ok, yes, I’m biased too since I’m obviously a words person - a lover of articulated feelings, desires and ideas. Talk, please. Because it’s rare. Because it’s evidence of effort. Because it shows you care and that I’m worth it. Because we’re not telepaths.

Take Before Sunset, starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, for example. The movie is completely dialogue driven, but the lines are so good, so memorable, and so revealing that you don’t mourn the lack of action sequences.

Closer, starring Clive Owen, Julia Roberts, Jude Law and Natalie Portman, is another great dialogue-driven movie. A lot of it strengths come from being an adaptation of Patrick Marber’s play of the same name. Clive Owen also premiered the play when it first hit the stage in 1997, which helps explain his commanding performance in the film version.

Choice quotes from Patrick Marber’s play Closer:

Don’t b a pussy. Life without riskisdeath. Desire,liketheworld,is an accident. The bestsex is anon. We liv as we dream,ALONE. I’ll make u cum like a train.

You’re the belle of the bullshit. You look beautiful.

She has the moronic beauty of youth.

Anna: Dan, please be bigger than… jealous. Please, be bigger.

Dan: What could be bigger than jealousy?

Anna: When we’re making love, why don’t you kiss me? Why don’t you like it when I say I love you? I’m on your side. Talk to me.

Dan: It hurts. I’m ashamed. I know it’s illogical and I do understand but I hate you. I love you and don’t like other men fucking you, is that so weird?

Anna: No. YES. It was only sex.

A gritty, unpretty track from Future Sound of London’s Dead Cities album:

My first encounter with Neil Gaiman was in the early ’90s, when my eldest brother started collecting the Sandman graphic novel series. That was a real masterpiece.

When his first pure-prose novel Neverwhere was published in 1998, I was underwhelmed despite really wanting to like it. It was an entertaining yarn, and recognisably Gaiman-esque, but lacked punch. I think it was a question of pacing. There wasn’t enough dramatic buildup to make the climaxes interesting.

It didn’t help that my benchmark for no-holds-barred fantasy novels (those that flit between the real world and fantasy, as opposed to traditional fantasy tales like Lord of the Rings) was Clive Barker. I’d been spoilt by epics like Weaveworld and the inimitable Imajica, in which Barker perfected the unveiling of a faerie world just under the skin of our own. Gaiman was up against stiff competition.

2002’s American Gods and its 2005 sequel, Anansi Boys, were both better than Neverwhere, but they were only an evolutionary step forward, which solidified my opinion that Gaiman was still best at graphic novels.

Then, I finally got around to reading Gaiman’s Coraline (2002) - a not-suitable-for-kids children’s novel that bears direct comparison with Barker’s Thief of Always from a decade earlier. It was the first time I felt a Gaiman prose work eclipsed a Barker one; a perfectly-crafted and satisfying read.

It was only after I dived into Gaiman’s latest offering, Fragile Things, that I realised what I’d been missing all these years. Released late last year, it’s a collection of short stories and poetry, many of them previously published. The quality’s consistently good, and redolent of the disarmingly gentle insight that made me fall in love with Sandman.

It’s worth repeating a quote from the introduction to Fragile Things, which I’ve posted before. S.H.E. asked me last night what my new year’s resolution is. I couldn’t really answer her satisfactorily then, but now I think this quote encapsulates my attitude:

I think… that I would rather recollect a life mis-spent on fragile things than spent avoiding moral debt.

It goes quite nicely with this song:

So, my resolution for 2007 is to continue to spend my life on fragile things, partly so that I’ll never have to regret a moment.

Anyway, back to Gaiman: I never bought Smoke and Mirrors, an earlier anthology from 1998, because I used to prefer longer stories. In fact, I used to dread endings. My tastes and needs have changed though, and I’ll probably pick up Smoke and Mirrors soon. Besides, Gaiman’s stories never really end since he revisits many of them. I wish more of my favourite authors would revisit old characters and places. After all, story endings are essentially arbitrary - chosen for pace and effect, not for necessity. Something more can always be said after you close a book.

At this point, my conclusion is that while Gaiman’s strength still lies in graphic novels and shorter pieces, his prose talent is clearly strong enough to stand on it own without graphic illustration. I can’t say the same for his poetry, since a Gaiman poem has yet to grab me by the scruff of my neck.

Choice quotes from Sandman:

King of Dreams (speaking to Lucifer): What power would hell have if those imprisoned here were not able to dream of heaven?

King of Dreams: On reflection, while I cannot give you the thing itself, I could give you a dream of my love.
Nuala: I already have that, my lord.

Delirium (formerly known as Delight): His madness… His madness keeps him sane.
King of Dreams: And do you think he is the only one, my sister?

I think… that I would rather recollect a life mis-spent on fragile things than spent avoiding moral debt.
- Neil Gaiman