Saturday, June 28, 2014

Whose imagination is under strain?

In the shorter of his two reviews of Maleficent for The New Yorker (subscription required for both links), Anthony Lane condenses his complaint-filled long one into a single question:
As for the screenplay, by Linda Woolverton, it treads carefully, and all too kindly, in the footsteps of “Wicked,” assigning a tender heart to what we have hitherto viewed, and relied upon, as bad. Can our imaginations really not take the strain?
I wonder, whose imagination cannot take the strain: those who can imagine a reason for evil actions and the possibility of redemption through love*, or those for whom the story can never change, but must always be black-and-white, "relied upon" and unaltered from their first hearing?



* ps: I can't tell you how much I like the fact that movies are beginning to take "an act of true love," or more specifically "true love's kiss", and uncouple it from romance - especially the "love at first sight" variety of romance.

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