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Gareth von Kallenbach (965 KP) rated The Greatest Showman (2017) in Movies
Jul 11, 2019
I can’t claim to know much about musicals. I don’t actively avoid them, but I don’t go out of my way to see them either. The few that I have seen and liked don’t seem to sit well with the musical theater crowd either. For instance, recently in conversation my defense of Russell Crowe as Javert in the latest adaptation of Les Misérables was shot down in a matter of seconds. My wife, with some frequency, reminds me that my (until now) secret admiration of Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd is something that should never be declared in a public forum. For me, one of the best achievements in musical film will always be South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut; and though there is a general positivity about it, I’ve never seen it taken all that seriously as a contemporary musical (it was certainly a hell of a lot more memorable than 2003’s Best Picture winner, Chicago). So, if you haven’t already decided my opinion will be moot and stopped reading, I will, with the limited appreciation I have for this genre, give The Greatest Showman the fairest shake I can.
At a surprisingly short hour and forty-five minutes, this high-concept imagining of the meteoric rise of P.T. Barnum (Hugh Jackman), from the impoverished son of a tailor to one of the biggest names in the history of entertainment, should absolutely fly by. Tragically, it doesn’t. Beginning with an irresponsibly rushed first act that condenses decades of backstory into a few minutes, it dramatically stops dead between its second and third acts as we’re subjected to three songs in a row that not all that subtly beat us over the head with the inevitably that our leads are going to have to face some predictable, life-changing conflict before the big finale. Showman also suffers from the delusion that period pieces will be more engaging and relatable with a modern-inspired soundtrack, à la Baz Luhrmann’s misguided attempt at The Great Gatsby. The idea being that the music of the time, though antiquated to us now, would have sounded modern to people then, so why not put modern music, whether original or sourced, over period images in an attempt to bridge the gap between their world and ours? It’s a concept that might sound great on paper, but as Luhrmann already proved, the final results don’t so much complement each other as they expose each other’s weaknesses.
Its major flaw though, and why The Greatest Showman fails to be a great anything, is the insistence on force-feeding moments of attempted catharsis every 15-20 minutes, having earned almost none of them. A great many of the numbers are presented as such grand, climactic set pieces that they don’t feel as though they are working to serve a cohesive, larger whole. We are inundated with a blur of crescendo after crescendo and left little time to reflect on what we have just seen and heard before the film clumsily bounds off to the next song-and-dance laden plot point; and if you asked me to name any of the individual tunes now three days later, I’d be hard-pressed to do so. It’s an odd juxtaposition, and one I’ve very rarely experienced, wanting so badly for a film to end and at the same time wishing it had been given more time to fully realize its scope. Keep your ears open as well for an ill-advised line in which Barnum proudly compares himself to Napoleon. Isn’t Barnum supposed to be the “hero” of this piece, someone we are supposed to identify with and for whom we want to find success? Somebody please provide Showman’s writers a history lesson that didn’t just come off a Wikipedia page (for Barnum and Napoleon’s sakes).
With any negative criticism, I do like to try and go out on something positive, and if I have to concede anything to this movie, it’s that it finds its footing, albeit temporarily, while addressing issues of equality. Showman shines in the few moments where the supporting players portraying Barnum’s “oddities”, Keala Settle as Lettie Lutz in particular, are given the opportunity to stand toe-to-toe with the leads and, in many of these scenes, they rise above even the likes of Hugh Jackman. Another member of the cast who merits a little bit of praise (and I reserve the right to retract this at any time of my choosing, more than likely with whatever juvenile comedy he’ll be seen in next) is Zac Efron. Exposure to the likes of Nicole Kidman and John Cusack in 2012’s sadly overlooked The Paperboy, may finally be yielding results as he is the only lead who leaves an impression. Though his journey as a high society playwright begrudgingly brought into Barnum’s world definitely leans heavily on the saccharine side, it does provide a break of plausibility in amongst the unbridled chaos of the rest of the picture. I wouldn’t doubt that there is a much better movie that could have been made from expanding into its own feature the subplot of his character bucking the expectations of his status to fall in love with a circus performer.
At a surprisingly short hour and forty-five minutes, this high-concept imagining of the meteoric rise of P.T. Barnum (Hugh Jackman), from the impoverished son of a tailor to one of the biggest names in the history of entertainment, should absolutely fly by. Tragically, it doesn’t. Beginning with an irresponsibly rushed first act that condenses decades of backstory into a few minutes, it dramatically stops dead between its second and third acts as we’re subjected to three songs in a row that not all that subtly beat us over the head with the inevitably that our leads are going to have to face some predictable, life-changing conflict before the big finale. Showman also suffers from the delusion that period pieces will be more engaging and relatable with a modern-inspired soundtrack, à la Baz Luhrmann’s misguided attempt at The Great Gatsby. The idea being that the music of the time, though antiquated to us now, would have sounded modern to people then, so why not put modern music, whether original or sourced, over period images in an attempt to bridge the gap between their world and ours? It’s a concept that might sound great on paper, but as Luhrmann already proved, the final results don’t so much complement each other as they expose each other’s weaknesses.
Its major flaw though, and why The Greatest Showman fails to be a great anything, is the insistence on force-feeding moments of attempted catharsis every 15-20 minutes, having earned almost none of them. A great many of the numbers are presented as such grand, climactic set pieces that they don’t feel as though they are working to serve a cohesive, larger whole. We are inundated with a blur of crescendo after crescendo and left little time to reflect on what we have just seen and heard before the film clumsily bounds off to the next song-and-dance laden plot point; and if you asked me to name any of the individual tunes now three days later, I’d be hard-pressed to do so. It’s an odd juxtaposition, and one I’ve very rarely experienced, wanting so badly for a film to end and at the same time wishing it had been given more time to fully realize its scope. Keep your ears open as well for an ill-advised line in which Barnum proudly compares himself to Napoleon. Isn’t Barnum supposed to be the “hero” of this piece, someone we are supposed to identify with and for whom we want to find success? Somebody please provide Showman’s writers a history lesson that didn’t just come off a Wikipedia page (for Barnum and Napoleon’s sakes).
With any negative criticism, I do like to try and go out on something positive, and if I have to concede anything to this movie, it’s that it finds its footing, albeit temporarily, while addressing issues of equality. Showman shines in the few moments where the supporting players portraying Barnum’s “oddities”, Keala Settle as Lettie Lutz in particular, are given the opportunity to stand toe-to-toe with the leads and, in many of these scenes, they rise above even the likes of Hugh Jackman. Another member of the cast who merits a little bit of praise (and I reserve the right to retract this at any time of my choosing, more than likely with whatever juvenile comedy he’ll be seen in next) is Zac Efron. Exposure to the likes of Nicole Kidman and John Cusack in 2012’s sadly overlooked The Paperboy, may finally be yielding results as he is the only lead who leaves an impression. Though his journey as a high society playwright begrudgingly brought into Barnum’s world definitely leans heavily on the saccharine side, it does provide a break of plausibility in amongst the unbridled chaos of the rest of the picture. I wouldn’t doubt that there is a much better movie that could have been made from expanding into its own feature the subplot of his character bucking the expectations of his status to fall in love with a circus performer.
Chris Sawin (602 KP) rated Midsommar (2019) in Movies
Jun 26, 2019 (Updated Jul 4, 2019)
When a director like Ari Aster only has two full-length features under his belt, it’s difficult not to compare his works but the truth of the matter is that Hereditary and Midsommar are two incredibly different films. Hereditary seemed to thrive on lurking in the shadows visually to assist in its dark storytelling. Nearly all of Midsommar takes place under blinding sunlight making the horrific events that unfold feel stranger and even more out of place, confusing, and bizarrely unsettling. Based on his two films though, Aster does seem to flock towards a few common themes. Grief, loss, and the inability to cope have plagued the main characters of his films while the importance of family takes a high precedence. Hereditary was more about a specific family attempting to stay together while already being in shambles and Midsommar attempts to create a new family on more than one occasion with the possibility of constant expansion.
Dani’s (Florence Pugh) life is turned inside out once a devastating tragedy leaves her dumbstruck. She leans on her boyfriend of four years, Christian (Jack Reynor), for support, but their relationship is obviously strained. Along with their friends Josh (William Jackson Harper) and Mark (Will Poulter), Dani and Christian end up going on vacation to rural Sweden. They travel to a small village where their friend Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) grew up and now serves as their host. A rare nine-day festival that only occurs once every 90 years is being celebrated. Josh is utilizing the trip as a means to bulk up his folklore thesis for college while Mark is more interested in partaking in the Swedish women. Christian is attempting to figure out what his thesis will be while Dani searches for some sort of guidance after such a tragic occurrence. Their trip becomes increasingly more peculiar the longer they stay as they’re forced to witness violent rituals and are encouraged to embrace the ways of a Pagan cult.
The intricate illustrations throughout the film like in the opening shot, the elongated love potion cloth, or the walls of the barn-like structure Dani and her friends sleep in, give Midsommar this dark fairy tale aspect to it that a film like Pan’s Labyrinth would be proud of. The Pagan roots of Pelle’s village and the film’s metaphorical feet being so firmly planted in such rich folklore give Midsommar this cautiously fanciful aesthetic. The film capitalizes on the nostalgic sensation of when fairy tales and children’s books were read to you as a child. There are consistent signs that things aren’t right, paranoia lurks around every corner, and the locals set off every ominous alarm in your body, but there’s that naïve part of us buried deep down that wishes for and hopes for a happy ending because cosmetically we believe that is what resides at the end of every fairy tale not written by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm (The Brothers Grimm).
It’s also interesting observing the main and supporting characters of the film or basically all of the “outsider” guests of the festival. Pelle acts as a conduit/guide between his village and the outside world, Josh is a historian/researcher, Mark is a mocker/fool, Dani and Christian are a strained couple, and Connie (Ellora Torchia) and Simon (Archie Madekwe) are a flourishing one. According to Wikipedia, Ari Aster based Dani and Christian’s relationship on a bad breakup. Midsommar is also way funnier than it has any right to be; something Hereditary completely distanced itself from. Midsommar goes out of its way to boast about who Dani’s real family is in the film. The unified chanting, outrageous theatrics, and harmonized moaning may seem like mockery or complete insanity to some. While it is humorous at times, it seems like this is the way the locals can experience everything everyone else does as a cohesive unit. This seems relevant to emotions, hallucinogens, and even sustenance; this cult does everything together.
Midsommar isn’t going to sit right with a lot of people, especially since Ari Aster desired to be confusing when it came to making the film. With all of the drug-taking in the film being so common, Midsommar may leave you feeling as groggy and disoriented as the characters on screen. However, in between the sacrifices, the brutality, the graphic nature of the film, inbred oracles, and plethora of naked mature women moaning in unison there’s something unique and brilliant about Midsommar you can’t find elsewhere. It may draw parallels to films like Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man and may feel like a bleaker version of The Wizard of Oz on a bad acid trip, but Midsommar is unlike any other film you’ll see this year. In a way, Dani and her friends all get exactly what they came for but the end outcome is that the majority of them bit off more than they could chew. Truth be told, you’ll never look at a bear in a film the same way again even if it does remind you of the Tanooki suit Mario wore in Super Mario Bros 3. This is the type of film where you could literally tell someone everything that happens and it wouldn’t really spoil the film for them. The context of these events is important to witness in succession and in their entirety since what each individual takes away from the film will likely differ person to person.
There’s a deliberate pacing of the film many will find too slow and uneventful as the film’s two and a half hour runtime will already feel daunting. Aster has teased that the original cut of the film was three hours and 45 minutes and he has a version of the film that is 25 minutes longer that was difficult to cut down to the theatrical cut currently in theaters. An extended cut of the film or a large amount of deleted scenes on the Blu-ray (how about that levitation sequence from the trailer?) would certainly be intriguing.
If you enjoy ambiguous filmmaking where everything isn’t explained and the film’s imagery can mean more than one specific thing, then Midsommar may be worth checking out. It is an outlandish experiment by Ari Aster that a large quantity will likely deem a failure. Personally speaking though, Midsommar is such an unconventionally different ceremonial fever dream loaded with preposterousness, beautiful cinematography, hilarity, and anxiety-fueled-dread that it’s not only memorable and bold but also the type of one-of-a-kind film experience I crave whenever the lights dim and the quiet hum of a projector accelerates into a dull yet soothing roar.
Dani’s (Florence Pugh) life is turned inside out once a devastating tragedy leaves her dumbstruck. She leans on her boyfriend of four years, Christian (Jack Reynor), for support, but their relationship is obviously strained. Along with their friends Josh (William Jackson Harper) and Mark (Will Poulter), Dani and Christian end up going on vacation to rural Sweden. They travel to a small village where their friend Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) grew up and now serves as their host. A rare nine-day festival that only occurs once every 90 years is being celebrated. Josh is utilizing the trip as a means to bulk up his folklore thesis for college while Mark is more interested in partaking in the Swedish women. Christian is attempting to figure out what his thesis will be while Dani searches for some sort of guidance after such a tragic occurrence. Their trip becomes increasingly more peculiar the longer they stay as they’re forced to witness violent rituals and are encouraged to embrace the ways of a Pagan cult.
The intricate illustrations throughout the film like in the opening shot, the elongated love potion cloth, or the walls of the barn-like structure Dani and her friends sleep in, give Midsommar this dark fairy tale aspect to it that a film like Pan’s Labyrinth would be proud of. The Pagan roots of Pelle’s village and the film’s metaphorical feet being so firmly planted in such rich folklore give Midsommar this cautiously fanciful aesthetic. The film capitalizes on the nostalgic sensation of when fairy tales and children’s books were read to you as a child. There are consistent signs that things aren’t right, paranoia lurks around every corner, and the locals set off every ominous alarm in your body, but there’s that naïve part of us buried deep down that wishes for and hopes for a happy ending because cosmetically we believe that is what resides at the end of every fairy tale not written by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm (The Brothers Grimm).
It’s also interesting observing the main and supporting characters of the film or basically all of the “outsider” guests of the festival. Pelle acts as a conduit/guide between his village and the outside world, Josh is a historian/researcher, Mark is a mocker/fool, Dani and Christian are a strained couple, and Connie (Ellora Torchia) and Simon (Archie Madekwe) are a flourishing one. According to Wikipedia, Ari Aster based Dani and Christian’s relationship on a bad breakup. Midsommar is also way funnier than it has any right to be; something Hereditary completely distanced itself from. Midsommar goes out of its way to boast about who Dani’s real family is in the film. The unified chanting, outrageous theatrics, and harmonized moaning may seem like mockery or complete insanity to some. While it is humorous at times, it seems like this is the way the locals can experience everything everyone else does as a cohesive unit. This seems relevant to emotions, hallucinogens, and even sustenance; this cult does everything together.
Midsommar isn’t going to sit right with a lot of people, especially since Ari Aster desired to be confusing when it came to making the film. With all of the drug-taking in the film being so common, Midsommar may leave you feeling as groggy and disoriented as the characters on screen. However, in between the sacrifices, the brutality, the graphic nature of the film, inbred oracles, and plethora of naked mature women moaning in unison there’s something unique and brilliant about Midsommar you can’t find elsewhere. It may draw parallels to films like Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man and may feel like a bleaker version of The Wizard of Oz on a bad acid trip, but Midsommar is unlike any other film you’ll see this year. In a way, Dani and her friends all get exactly what they came for but the end outcome is that the majority of them bit off more than they could chew. Truth be told, you’ll never look at a bear in a film the same way again even if it does remind you of the Tanooki suit Mario wore in Super Mario Bros 3. This is the type of film where you could literally tell someone everything that happens and it wouldn’t really spoil the film for them. The context of these events is important to witness in succession and in their entirety since what each individual takes away from the film will likely differ person to person.
There’s a deliberate pacing of the film many will find too slow and uneventful as the film’s two and a half hour runtime will already feel daunting. Aster has teased that the original cut of the film was three hours and 45 minutes and he has a version of the film that is 25 minutes longer that was difficult to cut down to the theatrical cut currently in theaters. An extended cut of the film or a large amount of deleted scenes on the Blu-ray (how about that levitation sequence from the trailer?) would certainly be intriguing.
If you enjoy ambiguous filmmaking where everything isn’t explained and the film’s imagery can mean more than one specific thing, then Midsommar may be worth checking out. It is an outlandish experiment by Ari Aster that a large quantity will likely deem a failure. Personally speaking though, Midsommar is such an unconventionally different ceremonial fever dream loaded with preposterousness, beautiful cinematography, hilarity, and anxiety-fueled-dread that it’s not only memorable and bold but also the type of one-of-a-kind film experience I crave whenever the lights dim and the quiet hum of a projector accelerates into a dull yet soothing roar.
Jordan Binkerd (567 KP) rated Gideon's Angel in Books
Aug 15, 2019
Note: this review is transposted from my personal review blog, and so was originally written several years ago. I figured if I reposted it here, someone might actually read it….
I received my copy of Gideon’s Angel through the Goodreads FirstReads program. This in no way influences my review, except to ensure that I was able to get ahold of this book and thus review it. I have to say, I really enjoyed this one. I want to describe it as “steampunk,” but my understanding is that steampunk is usually set in the 1800s (or at least that level of tech and society) whereas this work is firmly set in 1653. If there’s already a term for pseudo-historical fiction with a fantasy touch set in that timeframe, I apologize for not knowing what it is and using it accordingly.
Things are not going well for Richard Treadwell. The English Civil War is over, the King’s Cavaliers lost to the forces of Parliament and Oliver Cromwell, and Charles I has been executed. Treadwell has managed to escape the destruction of his cause, and has spent the past eight years in exile in France, performing a delicate balancing act between loyalty to his exiled king* and his employer, Cardinal Mazarin. When Mazarin informs him that someone is using the forces of Hell to tip the balance in their favor and asks him to spy on the exile court to find out if it is one of the king’s supporters, Treadwell decides that it’s time to get out of Paris. He accepts a mission for one of the king’s more militant supporters that will take him back to his beloved England–to lead a Royalist uprising, one last try to oust Cromwell and his Puritan cronies. Treadwell has other business to tend to as well, including a wife who by now probably considers herself a widow. Unfortunately for Treadwell’s simple worldview, it soon becomes clear that Cromwell’s power is the only thing preventing the more radical Puritan elements from running roughshod over the whole country. Worse still, a demon from the pits of Hell has appeared to a radical Puritan sect masquerading as an angel of light and ordering the death of Cromwell so that the Kingdom of God may be fulfilled. Now instead of assassinating Cromwell Treadwell will be forced to save him–if he can find a way to fight the forces of Hell, gain some allies in his quest, and avoid d’Artagnan, a young Musketeer dispatched by the Cardinal to bear him back to Paris….
I really enjoyed this book. It’s not exactly “high literature,” but I think I’ve very well established that I care far more about a work’s entertainment value than whatever it is critics look for. The world Beal creates here feels very real, slipping in background historical information without making you feel like you’ve been lectured. Some readers will probably wish for more background on the English Civil War, and that’s fine. If they care that much, there are numerous good books on the subject. If they don’t, there’s a Wikipedia article that should give you a good rundown on what happened. Beal manages to evoke seventeenth-century London in all its grimy glory, much as it would have actually been aside from the fact that all the magic we dismiss as superstition is actually going on behind the scenes. Moreover, this magic very much resembles what you would find depicted in the folklore of the era without obvious modern embellishment. I’m not really all that well versed in the history of the Freemasons, so I can’t accurately speak to how they were portrayed here except to say that I very much doubt their claim to date back to the builders of the pyramids. Then again, I doubt they have the tools to summon demons too, so maybe I shouldn’t be too critical. Secondary characters generally proved to be interestingly complex, especially Billy Chard, but I am seeing criticism of how the female characters in the book act. They aren’t weak characters by any means, but they are constrained by their roles in society. Treadwell’s wife has pragmatically joined her fate to that of the officer who took over Treadwell’s land when he was banished and is pregnant with his child. Is she weak for this? Or is she a strong female doing what she has to in order to protect what is left of her family? Treadwell’s Parisian mistress follows him to England rather than stay in Paris and face the scandal of their liasion alone. Weak, for needing Treadwell by her side? Or strong, for following him into whatever dangers he may be facing? Finally, Isabelle decides to follow her father and the rest of Treadwell’s band into battle against the forces of Darkness, deciding that it would be better to fall by his side than live on without him. Possibly a sign of weakness, but look at her situation realistically. She and her father were driven from Spain for their Jewish heritage, her mother dying along the way. Jews do not fare well in the Christian world of the seventeenth century, not even in England. The lot of a young woman alone in the world is already hard enough in this time without adding the burden of religious and ethnic persecution. She would have no respectable means of supporting herself, and could conceivably find herself forced into prostitution–on her own if she was lucky, as no more than a slave if she was not. Is preferring death in battle to such a fate a sign of weakness or of strength? She certainly has no trouble speaking her mind, and in fact berates Treadwell severely for endangering her father when they first meet. I suppose I can understand where some people would find these characters and their portrayal to be weak and sexist, but I respectfully disagree. I submit that instead they are strong characters reacting realistically to a world where women are not treated equally–in fact, I would have more of a problem with them if they demonstrated anachronistic modern sensibilities.** The ending was a little deus ex machina, but on the whole I didn’t mind. I would say that I want to read a sequel, but I don’t think the author could come up with anything to top this in terms of personal impact on the characters–Treadwell’s internal conflict between hating Cromwell and having to save him is very well done, and I fear Beal would prove unable to find something equally interesting as a follow up. We never really got to find out what happened to Treadwell back during the Thirty Years War that introduced him to the world of angels and demons, so I could see maybe writing that up….I’d buy it, anyway.
CONTENT: R-rated language, occasionally harsh but I would argue not gratuitous. Moderately explicit sexual content, as you would expect from a work in this vein.*** A fair amount of violence, from both man and demon. Not usually too gory in its description. There is also a good deal of occult content, as the villains are summoning a demon they believe to be an angel. This demon’s lesser minions dog Treadwell and his friends, and there are multiple encounters with them. One is implied to be a golem, others appear as strange amalgamations of beast(s) and man. For me, this is adequately balanced by the recognition that, as powerful as the forces of Darkness are, God is far more powerful than they. Bottom line: if you’re mature enough to handle the other content, I don’t believe the occult elements should prove to be an issue.
*Charles I was executed, while his son Charles II went into exile. Just in case you were concerned with the historical accuracy of the book. So far as I can tell, this is pretty accurate. You know, aside from the demons and fictional characters roaming London…..
**Please understand, I’m neither defending nor endorsing the inequality of the seventeenth century. Neither is Clifford Beal, for that matter. I’m simply pointing out that it was how it was, and this was the world the characters would have come from. I’m all for equality, but to whitewash history and pretend it was different from it was….that way lies dangerous waters.
***This evokes more than anything a supernatural-tinged Alexandre Dumas novel for me….and you know how bawdry his musketeers could be when they wanted to be.
Original post: https://jordanbinkerd.wordpress.com/2013/10/24/review-gideons-angel-by-clifford-beal/
I received my copy of Gideon’s Angel through the Goodreads FirstReads program. This in no way influences my review, except to ensure that I was able to get ahold of this book and thus review it. I have to say, I really enjoyed this one. I want to describe it as “steampunk,” but my understanding is that steampunk is usually set in the 1800s (or at least that level of tech and society) whereas this work is firmly set in 1653. If there’s already a term for pseudo-historical fiction with a fantasy touch set in that timeframe, I apologize for not knowing what it is and using it accordingly.
Things are not going well for Richard Treadwell. The English Civil War is over, the King’s Cavaliers lost to the forces of Parliament and Oliver Cromwell, and Charles I has been executed. Treadwell has managed to escape the destruction of his cause, and has spent the past eight years in exile in France, performing a delicate balancing act between loyalty to his exiled king* and his employer, Cardinal Mazarin. When Mazarin informs him that someone is using the forces of Hell to tip the balance in their favor and asks him to spy on the exile court to find out if it is one of the king’s supporters, Treadwell decides that it’s time to get out of Paris. He accepts a mission for one of the king’s more militant supporters that will take him back to his beloved England–to lead a Royalist uprising, one last try to oust Cromwell and his Puritan cronies. Treadwell has other business to tend to as well, including a wife who by now probably considers herself a widow. Unfortunately for Treadwell’s simple worldview, it soon becomes clear that Cromwell’s power is the only thing preventing the more radical Puritan elements from running roughshod over the whole country. Worse still, a demon from the pits of Hell has appeared to a radical Puritan sect masquerading as an angel of light and ordering the death of Cromwell so that the Kingdom of God may be fulfilled. Now instead of assassinating Cromwell Treadwell will be forced to save him–if he can find a way to fight the forces of Hell, gain some allies in his quest, and avoid d’Artagnan, a young Musketeer dispatched by the Cardinal to bear him back to Paris….
I really enjoyed this book. It’s not exactly “high literature,” but I think I’ve very well established that I care far more about a work’s entertainment value than whatever it is critics look for. The world Beal creates here feels very real, slipping in background historical information without making you feel like you’ve been lectured. Some readers will probably wish for more background on the English Civil War, and that’s fine. If they care that much, there are numerous good books on the subject. If they don’t, there’s a Wikipedia article that should give you a good rundown on what happened. Beal manages to evoke seventeenth-century London in all its grimy glory, much as it would have actually been aside from the fact that all the magic we dismiss as superstition is actually going on behind the scenes. Moreover, this magic very much resembles what you would find depicted in the folklore of the era without obvious modern embellishment. I’m not really all that well versed in the history of the Freemasons, so I can’t accurately speak to how they were portrayed here except to say that I very much doubt their claim to date back to the builders of the pyramids. Then again, I doubt they have the tools to summon demons too, so maybe I shouldn’t be too critical. Secondary characters generally proved to be interestingly complex, especially Billy Chard, but I am seeing criticism of how the female characters in the book act. They aren’t weak characters by any means, but they are constrained by their roles in society. Treadwell’s wife has pragmatically joined her fate to that of the officer who took over Treadwell’s land when he was banished and is pregnant with his child. Is she weak for this? Or is she a strong female doing what she has to in order to protect what is left of her family? Treadwell’s Parisian mistress follows him to England rather than stay in Paris and face the scandal of their liasion alone. Weak, for needing Treadwell by her side? Or strong, for following him into whatever dangers he may be facing? Finally, Isabelle decides to follow her father and the rest of Treadwell’s band into battle against the forces of Darkness, deciding that it would be better to fall by his side than live on without him. Possibly a sign of weakness, but look at her situation realistically. She and her father were driven from Spain for their Jewish heritage, her mother dying along the way. Jews do not fare well in the Christian world of the seventeenth century, not even in England. The lot of a young woman alone in the world is already hard enough in this time without adding the burden of religious and ethnic persecution. She would have no respectable means of supporting herself, and could conceivably find herself forced into prostitution–on her own if she was lucky, as no more than a slave if she was not. Is preferring death in battle to such a fate a sign of weakness or of strength? She certainly has no trouble speaking her mind, and in fact berates Treadwell severely for endangering her father when they first meet. I suppose I can understand where some people would find these characters and their portrayal to be weak and sexist, but I respectfully disagree. I submit that instead they are strong characters reacting realistically to a world where women are not treated equally–in fact, I would have more of a problem with them if they demonstrated anachronistic modern sensibilities.** The ending was a little deus ex machina, but on the whole I didn’t mind. I would say that I want to read a sequel, but I don’t think the author could come up with anything to top this in terms of personal impact on the characters–Treadwell’s internal conflict between hating Cromwell and having to save him is very well done, and I fear Beal would prove unable to find something equally interesting as a follow up. We never really got to find out what happened to Treadwell back during the Thirty Years War that introduced him to the world of angels and demons, so I could see maybe writing that up….I’d buy it, anyway.
CONTENT: R-rated language, occasionally harsh but I would argue not gratuitous. Moderately explicit sexual content, as you would expect from a work in this vein.*** A fair amount of violence, from both man and demon. Not usually too gory in its description. There is also a good deal of occult content, as the villains are summoning a demon they believe to be an angel. This demon’s lesser minions dog Treadwell and his friends, and there are multiple encounters with them. One is implied to be a golem, others appear as strange amalgamations of beast(s) and man. For me, this is adequately balanced by the recognition that, as powerful as the forces of Darkness are, God is far more powerful than they. Bottom line: if you’re mature enough to handle the other content, I don’t believe the occult elements should prove to be an issue.
*Charles I was executed, while his son Charles II went into exile. Just in case you were concerned with the historical accuracy of the book. So far as I can tell, this is pretty accurate. You know, aside from the demons and fictional characters roaming London…..
**Please understand, I’m neither defending nor endorsing the inequality of the seventeenth century. Neither is Clifford Beal, for that matter. I’m simply pointing out that it was how it was, and this was the world the characters would have come from. I’m all for equality, but to whitewash history and pretend it was different from it was….that way lies dangerous waters.
***This evokes more than anything a supernatural-tinged Alexandre Dumas novel for me….and you know how bawdry his musketeers could be when they wanted to be.
Original post: https://jordanbinkerd.wordpress.com/2013/10/24/review-gideons-angel-by-clifford-beal/