The Bear is back

Seeing as I complained a lot about The Bear and the Nightingale, the first part of Katherine Arden's Winternight trilogy, it's only fair to admit that I enjoyed the two other books in the trilogy a great deal. There's a story behind me having the first two books and therefore deciding to push on with part two, The Girl in the Tower, in spite of being doubtful after book number one. Originally, when on one of my London trips (how long ago it feels), I wanted to buy The Girl in the Tower. A kindly bookseller at Waterstones, Piccadilly then pointed out to me that this was actually the second part of a trilogy and went to a great deal of trouble to dig out the first part for me. I then didn't have the heart to say: "I'll just take that one, then, in case I don't like it", and ended up with both. So much for "soulless chain stores". Anyway, I was so agreeably surprised by The Girl in the Tower that I actually ordered the final book, The Winter of the Witch, and I wasn't disappointed.

The kindly bookseller wasn't wrong to press The Bear and the Nightingale on me. The books don't really work as standalone novels: they have to be read together, and in the right order. Part one is very much the weakest in my view, though. One reason I got into The Girl in the Tower as well as I did was that it seemed to take some pains to rectify what had annoyed me in The Bear and the Nightingale. For one thing, the heroine, Vasya, is acknowledged to be flawed, and her recklessness - admired by friend and foe alike in The Bear and the Nightingale - isn't always a good thing. Maybe I've just watched too many Frozen 2 reviews on YouTube, but people seem obsessed with "actions having consequences" nowadays, and when they don't - as in Frozen 2 - it's seen as bad writing. I don't know how I feel about this generally: I don't want the fiction I consume to be too much like cautionary tales and I lean towards narratives where characters can behave badly without it having any consequence whatsoever. But I have to admit, it was nice to see Vasya's wild-child behaviour met with some scepticism from her brother Sasha - a warrior monk and adviser to the Grand Prince of Moscow - and her sister Olga, who lives the traditional life of a nobleman's wife rejected by Vasya and has to make that work for herself and her family. Both siblings have to shield Vasya, who shows up in their life in the middle of a heroic adventure dressed as a boy. If she's found out, Olga risks disgrace for herself, her husband and her children, and Sasha risks losing the friendship and trust of Grand Prince Dmitrii, just when the Prince needs a sensible adviser the most. To make matters worse, Vasya dabbles in magic, too.

Not only is Vasya no longer fawned upon in The Girl in the Tower, her relationship with Morozko, the Winter King of this trilogy, is also revealed to be more complicated than she imagined. I never quite warmed to Morozko in The Bear and the Nightingale, which is a little strange, as I'm usually partial to Winter Kings, Frost Knights and the like. Perhaps it was partly due to folklorian differences. A beardless, black-curled Winter King with "intense blue eyes" as if he were Paul Newman? Come on. He needs to have a white beard and flowing white hair, surely? Mostly, though, it was because I didn't enjoy the awkwardly romantic scenes between Morozko and Vasya. Romances between fearsome immortal magical beings and mortal maidens can work, but in this instance it just felt embarrassing, and I thought less of Morozko for being sweet on Vasya. In The Girl in the Tower, however, it is revealed that though Morozko cares for Vasya in his way, he is also using her. This makes a lot of sense, otherwise his coming to her aid incessantly would become tiresome (it still is, especially the way she takes it for granted). Vasya is given a shake-up by contemplating the possibility that far from being the Winter King's One True Love, she may just be one in a string of silly girls who keep him alive and powerful by way of their pining. She rebels - only to realise that in doing so she has severely limited his ability to help her when she needs him.

Apart from not gushing over Vasya so much and throwing a much-needed spanner in the romantic works, The Girl in the Tower is an exciting story, more so than the slow-moving The Bear and the Nightingale. But there's one thing The Bear and the Nightingale has that The Girl in the Tower doesn't have - and that's the Bear. He's the Winter King's wicked, one-eyed brother Medved who can raise the dead, and a fun villain. The bad guy of the The Girl in the Tower is perfectly all right - though the villain reveal doesn't come as a vast surprise - and I certainly approve of his chosen profession (mighty sorcerer). But the Bear was the best thing about the first book, and I was a bit disappointed when he didn't return in The Girl in The Tower, except in a brief dream vision. In book number three, though, he is back in full force.

The Winter of the Witch was my favourite in the trilogy, and this time around I had some time even for its flaws. I rather admired the way Arden didn't follow the standard advice on how a story should be constructed given by those in the know - because it's her story, hang it, and she'll do what she likes with it. The narrative culminates in a great battle against the Tatars - intimidating, I'm sure, but they seem small fry compared to the supernatural threats which have gone before. But the battle is important to Arden and to her characters, so it becomes the grand finale. The Bear turns out to live up to his promising villain beginnings with gusto - I didn't much care for the humour in the trilogy generally, but Medved's sarcasms always made me smile. His relationship with the tormented Father Konstantin, who finally changes from pathetic sap to an antagonist to be reckoned with, is far more fascinating than the Vasya-Morozko romance (though the way the rift is healed between these two makes their love story feel more earned and much more bearable). Then, there comes a perfect exit scene for the Bear, which has Vasya wondering whether she has done the right thing after all. Surely storytelling experts would say: "Yes! Stop there!". Arden doesn't: she hauls the Bear back into the narrative, with ever so slightly diminishing returns: he's still fun, though, so I'm not complaining.

Another storytelling decision, which would surely have creative-writing advisers and adherents to the "actions have consequences" school of thought tearing their hair, I can't fully reveal as it would be too much of a spoiler. I can say this much: there's a major, dramatic event in The Winter of the Witch, which has a profound impact on Vasya. We see her process it and come to terms with it. And then, right at the very end, Arden back-pedals completely. I wonder if she really meant to originally, or if somewhere along the way she thought "screw it, all this 'life goes on though bad things happen blah blah' is all very well, but I want to give my girl a break". From a storytelling perspective, it may not be ideal, but I understand why Arden did it and find it endearing. Also, readers who are more invested in Vasya than I ever managed to be will thank her for it.

In defence of the Star Wars sequels: The Last Jedi

All right. This one's going to be tricky. It was certainly easier defending The Force Awakens.

Not that I didn't enjoy The Last Jedi when I watched it in the cinema. In fact, when it first came out, I saw it mostly as a decent addition to the Star Wars saga that felt a little drawn out in the middle - I even mentioned in my blog that it was hard to find something to discuss about it. Yes, there were some non sequiturs. Yes, some scenes grated on me, but I thought that was mostly my own hang-ups. It came as a surprise to learn that the film was as controversial as it was.

My reaction when I found out, though, was not a burning wish to defend the film and point out what was good about it. In fact, there was something about the fan rage that did not displease me - because as it turns out, the things that had irritated me weren't just my hang-ups after all. So people didn't like to see charming fighter pilot Poe be put in his place by some pink-haired Admiral? Neither did I! So the fans weren't bowled over by Finn's potential love interest Rose and her grudge against the wealthy Casino players? Me neither - I hated her little "eat the rich" speech. And I certainly wasn't the only nerd to have my nose put out of joint by the abrupt resolution to the questions "Who is Snoke?" (doesn't matter - he's dead now) and "Who were Rey's parents?" (nobodies who abandoned her). All that pleasant fan theorising - for nothing!

I still enjoyed the film on rewatch, however, and though I believe it's my least favourite of the sequel films (even if objectively speaking it's probably better than The Rise of Skywalker),  I'd argue its good points overcome the bad ones - and the bad ones are, possibly, a bit over-hated.

Rian Johnson was the director and writer of The Last Jedi, whereas JJ Abrams was the man behind The Force Awakens. The transition was by no means seamless. There's really little to be said for the way that Rian Johnson clumsily cut off plot threads from The Force Awakens because, presumably, they didn't appeal to him and he wanted to do his own thing. A trilogy should work as a whole, and it's not ideal if a writer/director goes off on a tangent in film two. However, some of the new ideas Johnson brought to the table weren't half bad. It would have been interesting to see a third instalment which carried through the notion of Kylo Ren as the Big Bad, without any evil mastermind lording it over him. Even though, what with Kylo Ren being "drawn to the light" and all, it seemed a pretty good bet that he'd be redeemed, it wasn't a given - he did kill his dad. It's harder for the Head Villain to turn good than for his second in command, and what with Kylo Ren passing up two chances to be redeemed already, we would have been left in suspense about him in film three. Whereas as soon as Palpatine reappeared in The Rise of Skywalker, you could be fairly certain that Han's and Leia's boy would turn against him before the film was done.

Not being the greatest fan of the Jedi, I was also interested in the hints that Rey would break with the old beliefs and possibly create her own order, which might acknowledge shades of grey and the importance of a balance between light and dark elements of the Force. It was rather encouraging to see even Yoda's Force ghost admitting that the Jedi belonged to the past and it was time for something new. Those plot threads - Kylo Ren as his own boss and the future of Force users - may have been enough to build an intriguing third film on. That didn't happen, as JJ Abrams - back in the saddle for The Rise of Skywalker - disliked Johnson's ideas as much as Johnson disliked his. But that is a subject matter for another time.

As for Admiral Holdo lecturing Poe and Rose and Finn freeing space horses, partly to spite rich Casino players, well... It may be that viewers like me, who are averse to moral lessons, are reading a little too much into these plot developments. I doubt that the message of the Holdo storyline is really "macho man bad, pink-haired woman good". Rather, what you could take away from it is that gung-ho heroics aren't always the best strategy when fighting a war. This would perhaps have been made clearer if Admiral Holdo had been an old man, someone Poe could suspect of being "past his prime". Anyway, Holdo, though somewhat idiotic in keeping her plans a secret, isn't as self-righteous as all that. She later admits in a woman-to-woman chat with Leia that she likes Poe (and that's after he's tried to start a mutiny against her), and Leia agrees, so they understand where he's coming from. (Incidentally, I don't get why Holdo should be regarded as "queer-coded" - for all we know, pink hair may be all the rage in a galaxy far, far away.) 

As for Rose, yes, she does seem a bit like the sort of girl who thinks an anti-hunting rally is the ideal setting for a first date. But to be fair to her, she doesn't volunteer the cause of her resentment towards the Casino planet to which she and Finn head in an, as it turns out, pointless side quest. I actually thought it was neat that what she described as "the worst place in the galaxy" or some such turned out to be a super-luxurious planet instead of a crime-infested dump - just as we were expecting another hommage to the cantina scene in A New Hope. It's only when Finn presses her that she spills. At first watch, I thought she was one of the down-trodden masses from the Casino planet - that would have given her a genuine grudge. But no, she grew up on a planet oppressed by the First Order (honestly - how long has the First Order been around for?), and she doesn't like the Casino players because, being so rich, they must be arms dealers, and being arms dealers, they must help the First Order in their war effort. Yeah, follow that logic if you can. Where does Rose think her late sister got those bombs from with which she blew up a whole Star Destroyer, containing many First Order foot soldiers and a snarky Captain I rather warmed to? If you're in a war, you lose the moral high ground pretty fast, and you have no call to slag off your suppliers.

So poor Rose may not be social commentator of the year, but in other respects she's a harmless enough character, and it's not entirely her fault the sparks between her and Finn don't exactly fly. If you can swallow the boo-bad-arms-dealers outburst, there's fun to be had in her and Finn's side quest, even if it does turn out to be a dead end.

But the real highlights of the film are elsewhere, and involve Rey, Kylo Ren, and Luke Skywalker. A criticism I don't understand when it comes to The Last Jedi is that it "ruined Luke". How so? He's amazing. Mark Hamill has never been better in the part. Yes, he's now grouchy and disillusioned instead of the idealistic golden boy of the original trilogy, but that only makes him more interesting - and he's still a decent man at heart who comes through in the end. I loved the scenes between him and Rey, and between Rey and Kylo Ren when they commune via Force power. When Luke bursts in on them in full Prospero mode, you can see why he's worried. Honestly, those who claim that Rey's and Kylo's/Ben's kiss in The Rise of Skywalker "came out of nowhere" - how chemistry-blind can you get? What surprised me even on a first watch was that I found the talky and philosophical bits - when Luke tried to teach Rey what the Force was, and what it wasn't; when Rey discovered how drawn she was to the Dark Side etc. - engrossing, whereas the action bits were more likely to drag. I remember thinking "Are they ever going to reach that planet with the red sand from the trailer"?

The Last Jedi is great pretty much anytime Luke, Rey or Kylo Ren is around, and OK the rest of the time. But no, I did not see the point of the Porgs.

Pixar's Soul: Exceeding my expectations

All right, time to gush about Soul, Pixar's latest which aired on Disney + on Christmas Day. I'm aware that I'm in danger of overpraising this film as I didn't have any high hopes for it, and was bowled over when it turned out to be top-class Pixar stuff.

The trailers are to blame for my low expectations. They mostly showed clips from the "soul world", leading the viewer to think that Joe, the film's protagonist, would be a blue blob most of the time. The gags in the trailers showing him interacting with unborn soul 22 weren't very funny - I thought the joke about food going right through you was gross already when it appeared in Olaf's Frozen Adventure. Worst of all, we had a trailer where Joe had a whole would-be inspiring speech about making the most of your life by being brilliant and passionate and not wasting time on the daily grind - "what do you want to be known for?". A scene that really put me off was when what appeared to be an office worker suddenly exclaimed "What am I doing with my life?" and swept away his computer screens. The film's message seemed to be "Go live your dream! Fulfil your potential!". Nothing wrong with that, but we'd be in a fine state if everyone was off chasing their dreams and no-one deigned to touch everyday, unglamorous, not-overly-creative work that pays the rent. In my experience, even creative people are no worse off for getting a day job. Consequently, I felt grumpy towards the film before even having seen it.

When the film started out, it seemed as if my predictions would be fulfilled. Joe Gardner, a jazz-mad middle-aged guy, is earning his keep as a music teacher in a school in New York, but dreaming of a life as a jazz pianist. At the beginning of the film he is offered a steady, full-time job at the school, including a pension plan, but he's not happy about it. Then, thanks to a grateful former pupil, he's offered the chance of the gig of a lifetime, playing with the celebrated Dorothea Williams and her band. All he has to do is to turn up at seven the following day and be amazing. And then he falls down a manhole... The next thing he knows, his soul (the blue blob) finds itself on a moving stairway to The Great Beyond. While frantically trying to escape his fate, Joe instead ends up in The Great Before, where unborn souls are being prepared for their life on Earth.

Joe is given the task of mentoring 22, who doesn't want to go to Earth at all. She is missing the last ingredient in her personality: the "spark" that will make her prepared to face life. Like Joe, I assumed that the "spark" was more or less the soul's purpose for living and had to be some great talent or creative interest. Joe and 22 visit a place called "The Zone", where people in a creative flow are gliding around in a trance-like state. We also see "lost souls", stuck in an obsession, who have to be helped by a bunch of hippie souls. One of the lost souls is a hedge-fund manager, the guy with the computer screens from the trailer. Ooh, I see, so jazz pianist - good life choice, hedge-fund manager - bad life choice, eh? My hackles were rising.

But then there's a turn. The lead hippie soul tells Joe that the souls in The Zone aren't that different from the lost souls, and that it's dangerous to be stuck there for too long. Then, as Joe manages to get back to Earth with 22 in tow - owing to mishaps, she lands in his body and he in the body of a cat - it turns out that what makes her more and more happy with Earth life isn't some grand passion for jazz or similar but everyday occurrences and connections with other people. It becomes increasingly clear that the message of the film isn't that everyday life risks stifling your dreams but the very opposite: that dreaming is all very well, but pursuing one great goal can make you blind to the simple pleasures of everyday life.

This was a message it was so much easier to get behind. True, it's not exactly the first time one hears it - "stop and smell the roses" is one expression for it. But it's heartening and life-affirming; enjoying a slice of pizza (or similar - personally I'm not that into pizza) or walking down a busy street on a fine autumn day are things anyone can do. You don't have to be some sort of creative genius. Even talented people like Joe needn't feel that their life is pointless if they don't get their big break. There's a very Pixar-y epiphany scene where Joe looks back on his life and realises that it wasn't as dreary as he thought: it was full of sweet and enjoyable moments. With this insight, he is even ready to face The Great Beyond if need be. (I'm not going to give away if he has to.)

Though the soul realms were colourful and often imaginative - the "counselors" in charge are depicted as 2-D Picasso-like creatures, showing them to be embodiments of concepts that are abstract to the human mind, and unceremoniously called "Jerry" - I enjoyed the New York scenes the most, so it's a good thing the film finds its way back there. It's also a mercy that the body swap isn't permanent. Yes, there are some standard ingredients in this film which we've seen a hundred times - where the protagonists fall out, one of them is a jerk to the other and neither can be truly happy before a grovelling apology has been made etc. Also, having presumably gone through the self-absorption portal when I was in The Great Beyond, it didn't even occur to me before a YouTuber pointed it out that the film might not be the most child-friendly Pixar fare. But these are small gripes: to me, Soul is the best Pixar film we've had in quite a while. It doesn't quite beat Inside Out overall in my book, but message-wise, I preferred this one.