I was so disappointed to hear that they are making a film of the 'BFG'. For those of you who did not have a full and enriched childhood, the 'BFG' is one of Roald Dahl's children's books and it happens to be my favourite. Roald Dahl holds a very special place in my childhood memories, and his words were largely responsible for forging my imagination onwards in primary school.
Pre-school children are blessed with an abundance of imagination, and somehow this dwindles and we grow older, if it isn't looked after. At the same time as our fantasies about the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and make-believe dissipate, so too does an imagination. There needed to be a step from childish imagination to adolescence imagination. And Dahl provided exactly that step. His legacy was as a custodian of endless possibilities. From personal experience, I remember becoming completely enveloped in his stories. His books allowed me to wrap myself in a world of twits, giant peaches, marvelous medicine, enormous crocodiles, chocolate factories, magic and of course friendly giants. And unfortunately this is where my problem comes in. In my opinion, there is a dearth of original film material, because Hollywood seems to have run out of story lines. Unless it is just my maturing (and hopefully not cantankerous) self, films seem to be lackluster. I remember being transfixed by a movie screen where the character and the plot reached out to me and once the credits began to roll, I was awestruck. Sadly this is no longer the case and it is only seldom that I am transformed by a film. More and more books, are therefore being turned into movies in the hope of captivating audiences, and it is just plain wrong. I am certain that there was a producer who looked back at his own childhood and felt that the 'BFG' was as enriching for him as it was for me, but why then would the next logical step be to turn it into a film? We have had other versions of Dahl's books motivated into a screen adaptation from the more recent 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' to 'Fantastic Mr Fox', 'The Witches', 'Matilda', and 'James and the Giant Peach'. Each one, though, has not lived up to its written counterpart. And unfortunately, from a 10 year old's point of view, why go through the 'effort' of reading when you can just catch the movie? Indeed most teenagers think along the same lines, and unfortunately this prevalence of turning books into films in killing the reading possibilities and therefore imaginative possibilities for this generation. It could be argued that the films might inspire children to read the books, but in doing so, they are put at a distinct disadvantage because their perceptions of every element in the story comes from someone else. Namely the crew who put the film together. And this is where preserving the imagination becomes so important because in an age where technology can create such an authentic reality, there is a need now more than ever to treasure books. Imagination is a lifeblood that, in the long run, allows us to be good parents, less cynical adults, better problem solvers and more appreciative of the beauty of life. Books invite the imagination and transfer our dreams even up to adulthood. Imagination is one of the reasons why I became an English teacher, and it is one of the things sorely missing in our 2016 lifestyle. I see imagination in my daughter and her classmates when she is at nursery school. I see it to some extent in the early primary school children. But in high school it is the exceptional student who has managed to retain their imagination, not the majority. Give a seven-year-old some Lego for instance, and immediately they build something 'off the top of their head'. Give it to a sixteen-year-old and they do not know where to start because they lack the imagination to just begin. I've tried this Lego task and the fact remains true, our imagination dissolves as we get older. And it is not just the movies that are responsible for this, but they are a good place to start. If only film franchises would be more Dahl-ian in their approach to making unique, original movies instead of an adaptation which robs us from the possibility of unleashing our imagination. Maybe they need to look to the children's authors all the way from Emily Gravett to Julia Donaldson to David Walliams for inspiration on how to be original instead of just borrowing their work. The obvious solution is, well, just don't see the movie, but is that really realistic? If you have a ten-year-old, what would their response be if you gave them the book and said "Read this. It is incredible. You'll love it far more than the film" ?
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Considering our drought and the state of much of the Lowveldt during a largely rainless summer, I find some inspiration from Kobie Kruger where she mentions the state of the 1994 Kruger Park drought in her book, "Mahlangeni: Stories of a Game Ranger's Family."
The dusty, windblown sun hung lopsidedly above a dwindling river, hovered a while behind the silhouettes of dying trees, and then slipped away. In the gloom of fading light, we sat waiting for the darkness to blot out the pitiful landscape and consign it to oblivion. What are we doing here...and why? I wondered. What is there to keep us in this godforsaken land where the rain will never fall? It seemed senseless to try and conserve nature's creatures if nature itself had a death wish. I wanted to go and live some place else, anywhere, as long as it was a wilderness area where it rained all the time. Kobus sat silently beside me, gazing towards the south-eastern horizon. I was about to share my lachrymose thoughts with him, when he lifted his hand and, pointing to the south-east said, 'Look, lightning.' I turned and looked. Presently, a distant flash zigzagged above the horizon. It looked like a long-forgotten miracle. We stared long and hard at the south-eastern sky, willing another flash to appear. A pearl-spotted owl called out, and its sweet melody seemed to linger a while in the quiet evening. From the barren woodland to the south of the river, the stirring cry of a jackal rose. And then the lightning flashed again. From somewhere, the whooping howl of a lone hyena soared into the night and drifted over the bush in rising and falling echoes. A soft breeze stirred through the garden, and soon the south-eastern sky was lit continuously by the distant lightning. We knew then that rain would come again. Perhaps not that night or even the following day. But soon. There is a theme to the books I am reading. A wonderful passage from this one:
"When I carried the up of coffee out, I found him sitting on our swing (a half cut tyre, suspended on a beam between two Mopane trees) swaying gently to the rhythm of the music. He was watching the hippos playing in the river below. He was so lost in his reverie that he didn't hear me approaching. I put my tray down on the grass and sat down next to it to pour the coffee. We drank our coffee and listened to the concerto . The warm and rich melody filled the garden and soared out over the river where even the hippos seemed entranced by its beauty. A fish eagle dived from the sky, and as it glided gracefully over the water,, its echoing calls resounded in the music-filled landscape. We didn't talk as we sipped our coffee and listened to the music. Half-way through the solo part of the larghetto movement, my guest poured himself a second cup of coffee and stirred it absent-mindedly, although he had forgotten to put sugar into it. When the last strains of Mozart's finale faded away, leaving their dulcet echos in our heads, he peered into his empty coffee mug and informed me that, at his home in Pretoria, the concerto didn't sound the same." I continue to be astounded by this man. I remember watching him many years ago while he was filmed interacting with Mountain Gorillas in Central Africa and I was spellbound. I still think that he has the coolest job in the world, not the Top Gear Team (although to be fair, Clarkson's passé used to have the best job in the world...maybe).
It is incredible how he is able to retain that childlike wonder even thou he is now 90 year old. Even as an adult, I am on the edge of my seat waiting for the next installment of Attenborough's adventures, and his documentaries get better and better, although how that is possible, I can't quite work out. At the end of last year it started with 'Life Story', shortly followed by 'The Hunt'. Both of these series confirmed again that perhaps I should have tried out as a Wildlife Film maker, or at the very least a conservationist. Romantic thoughts, but probably not practical. I did make an amateur documentary when I began high school, in all fairness. It wasn't very good, and quite a frustrating enterprise as I tried to use our VCR (those born post 1990 probably won't know what this is) that was married to another VCR via a series of coloured cables. It was tenuous in that I had to time playing the one tape to the recording of the other with what I had in mind to say somewhere in between. Funny how much easier technology has made things... But back to 'Life Story'. Whoever said that you learn something new every day was absolutely spot on. And there was so much to learn through each episode. Did you know that there is a species of Malaysian octopus that has worked out hoe to protect itself by carrying around two halves of a coconut in which is hides? Or how Barnacle Geese chicks skydive from perilously high nests crash landing on hard rock and somehow survive. There is the Racket-tailed Hummingbird that is so small that it competes for nectar with bees and has to dodge raindrops in flight. There are some hermit crabs that arrange themselves into an orderly line, smallest to largest when a big shell washed up on the beach so that when the largest crab takes occupation of the new shell, he sets off a chain reaction where every crab swaps their shell for the vacated bigger one. There is the Archer Fish that shoots a jet of liquid from beneath the water to dislodge an insect from a branch that overhangs his pond,and the physics of getting that aim right is incredible. My favorite, though, is a rather drab puffer fish that builds the most exquisite pattern on the ocean floor, rivaling currents and perspective, with precision that I think we could never match. Then there is 'The Hunt' which was not on,y fascinating, but also groundbreaking in the way in which the filmmakers managed to capture such unique footage...some never seen before. Watching a Blue Whale, in all of its enormous splendor open its gigantic mouth to feed of s pod of krill was impressive. As was watching a pack of wild dogs chase down a wildebeest from both the air and alongside each dog. Seeing a polar bare take to the water and use various ice holes to hunt seals. There was the expert camouflage of both leopards and tigers and how they out it to good use. And then there are the dolphins, that leave the safety of the ocean to fish, chasing their quarry onto sandy and muddy banks and then scoffing themselves full of the beached fish. Incredible... Most recently though, I watched 'Attenborough and the Giant Dinosaur'. And it was amazing. The sheer size of the bones that they found in Patagonia was just incredible. From the first femur which was taller that a full-grown man, to the enormous heart that beat every five seconds to pump 90 liters of blood around the body in that single beat. The titanosaur was brought to life with computer animation that showed what the animal would have looked like based on the comprehensive skeleton that was exposed as well as the full size replica of the giant. The documentary even explored the life cycle of this dinosaur and ones just like it, with fossilized eggs with shells that show a perfectly preserved texture and even fossilized baby dinosaur skin! The seventy tonne behemoth is the largest dinosaur ever discovered and might be the largest animal that ever walked earth...and the one that they found was still growing! People talk about the meaning of life, and I suspect that there are so many meanings, that change with age and experience, but I think that maintaining curiosity is part of that meaning. And Sir David Attenborough has achieved just that for himself but even more noteworthy, is that he has done it for many others as well. Myself included. A favourite passage from Bruce Bryden's book:
Among the various feline species, the leopard is second only to the ordinary domestic cat when it comes to versatility and the ability to adapt to new circumstances. One can't make a straight comparison - the domestic cat, after all, is much smaller than the leopard - but both are survivors par excellence. A well-fed domestic cat will turn into a hunter in the wink of an eye if the opportunity arises, simply because the prey animal is there. In addition, it can breed with various of the smaller wild cats and produce viable offspring because there is no real genetic difference between them. So your placid old moggy sleeping on the windowsill is, to coin a phrase, a leopard in cat's clothing... So there we have the leopard, one of the jewels in the bushveld's crown, and despite all the personal grief that some of them have caused me, I can't help but agree with what Peter Turnbull-Kemp once wrote about them: "Man-eater or mole-hunter, he is a creature of consummate grace who still lives among some of us. Small, more light than the average man who hunts him: handsome in the sun and ethereal by moonlight, the leopard is an animal for whom at least a grudging admiration should be found. Let's try to keep him as a neighbour - except where the sublimely unconscious individual becomes insupportable to man. Let us recall that the man-eater and stock-killer knows none of our laws, and should be pitied for the ill-understood retribution which man may inflict upon him...let us recall, when we hear horrific stores of the leopard and his kin, that it is pity and understanding of the so-called lower animal which are required - not hatred. For pity, while a thing of which to be aware, is perhaps the mother of understanding." |
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