The Shining, Animated: WIP

Star Wars And The Post-Jedi World

The legacy of the Jedi is failure. That’s what self proclaimed Jedi Master Luke Skywalker tells us in Rian Johnson’s mostly excellent The Last Jedi. Kylo Ren agrees, suggesting that Rey let the past die. Even Yoda gets in on the Jedi bashing action, burning a sacred tree full of ancient Jedi texts to the ground with lightning bolts. The Last Jedi reminds us time and again that the Force is not the sole domain of the Jedi and Sith. The Force is an energy that binds all living things; one need not be a confirmed card carrying Jedi to wield its power (or related to a Skywalker). Look at blind Chirrut Îmwe in Rogue One. That guy wasn’t a Jedi, yet his magical abilities were, without doubt, achieved with the aid of the Force.

So Luke says it’s time for the Jedi to end, and he’s right. All that we know of the ‘real’ Jedi is from the prequels, and in those films, the Jedi come across as a bunch of ineffectual goofballs. They allow a Sith Lord to rise to power beneath their noses. They task notorious Jedi in training, teenage Anakin Skywalker, with the role of bodyguard to teenage senator Padmé Amidala - stoking a relationship that precipitates the rise of Darth Vader. They painstakingly arrange holographic projectors so that it appears they’re all sitting in the same room. And when the clone troopers turn on them, the Jedi’s ability to see the future fails to protect them from being easily decimated. Sure, when they’re fighting a bunch of CGI droids they seem to know what they’re doing, but put four of them in a room with one Sith Lord and they’re absolutely useless.

The Last Jedi acknowledges that the Jedi, as a religious entity, is done. This not only destroys the dreams of Star Wars nerds everywhere (who grew up with fantasies of being a Jedi Master like Luke Skywalker), it also has far deeper implications in the world of Star Wars merchandise. Think of all those t-shirts emblazoned with slogans such as ‘JEDI IN TRAINING' or ‘I AM A JEDI LIKE MY FATHER BEFORE ME’. The notion of wanting to be a Jedi has been tarnished, and this concept has not been lost on Disney. Take a look at their online store. Unless preceded by the words ‘The Last’, the word ‘Jedi’ is completely missing from their range (until you reach the Rogue One merchandise). Everything now refers to ‘The Force’. 

It’s a bit like if Catholic churches stopped pushing the whole Christianity angle in favour of spirituality, and removed all trace of religion from their religion. Which makes you wonder - is this the point Rian Johnson is making, that religion is obsolete? If we all just agreed to believe in the underlying spirituality of it all, or a higher power with no denomination, then maybe we could find peace. And, dare I say, ‘balance’?

Beards In Film

I’ve worn a full beard on and off - mostly on - for the past 20 years. It has never been a fashion choice, nor an indication of my profession, lifestyle or social status. My reason for having a beard is simple; facial hair is relentless. Do nothing to remove it and it grows. Beards in film, on the other hand, are rarely meaningless. They generally function in one of two ways - to perpetuate a preconceived character type, or, more frequently, as a milestone in a character’s story arc.

Consider Marvel Studios’ underwhelming CGI spectacle Doctor Strange. When the eponymous hero is first introduced, we see him shaving with a double edged razor. After a car accident leaves him with damaged hand nerves, he attempts to shave but finds he is unable to hold the razor steady. Hence, his facial hair signifies a physical impairment, and eventually, the passage of time as it grows longer and fuller. Rather than a stylistic choice, it is a visual reminder of his downward spiral into depression and obsession. When he becomes proficient in the mystic arts, he immediately trims his beard into the neat goatee and moustache that we associate with ‘The Magician’. His facial hair ensures the audience knows exactly where he is on his journey to enlightenment, and serves a definite purpose in the film.

Although ‘The Magician’ is a facial hair cliche, it does not meet the criteria of a full beard and therefore is precluded from the following list of film beard stereotypes; of which there are five major variations. It's worth noting that the majority of full beards in movies have negative connotations, despite the fact that many of the greatest directors in film history have been beardies.

So, in order of beardliness, the five most prevalent beard stereotypes in contemporary films from the 80s and right up until the pre-hipster 2000s are:

'The Bad Guy'

'The Bad Guy': This beard is heavily manicured, implying that anyone who puts too much thought and effort into shaping their facial hair must clearly be evil.

'The Old Man'

'The Old Man': This is your full, neatly trimmed beard. It's generally only found on middle aged and older men in films - those who are considered 'past their prime'. Oftentimes, it is worn by teacher/mentor figures.

'The Down-On-His-Luck'

'The Down-On-His-Luck': Unkempt and not quite as thick as 'The Old Man', this beard signifies a character is lacking some vital element in his life. It is inevitably removed when the character is redeemed, or is finally on the path to redemption.

'The Hobo'

'The Hobo': Long, filthy or scraggly, this beard is generally worn by social outcasts or misfits. It also screams rock bottom, and is removed or trimmed to signify positive change in a character’s situation.

'The Wizard'

‘The Wizard’ - As magnificent as it is unlikely, this beard is only achievable with the aid of magic (or much oiling and combing).

There are some notable exceptions to these stereotypes. The best example of a refreshingly pointless beard belongs to the character of Ellis in Die Hard. He is your typical, 1980s businessman, yet instead of being clean shaven, he has a full, regular, no nonsense beard. The beard is never referred to, it offers no clue to his character nor impacts the plot. It’s just a beard.

The Terrible Tragedy of Tonari no Totoro

There has been much conjecture regarding the hidden truth of Hayao Miyazaki's 1988 anime, My Neighbor Totoro. A cursory search on google lists endless websites and forums spouting the same cut-and-paste controversies, all of which stem from the notion that four year old Mei Kusakabe is dead. Spoiler alert – she's not.

Mei's sandals.

Not Mei's sandal.

But if you are interested in reading about all the strange, coincidental links between a lovely G rated film and a 55 year old true story involving the rape and murder of a teenage girl and the subsequent suicide of her sister, then read this. And more recently, this.

It's human nature to search for deeper meaning in children's classics, and it's entirely justified to assume that all art exists on multiple levels - regardless of the artist's original intent. For instance, E.T. The Extra Terrestrial and Gremlins; one is clearly about the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, while the other is an allegory for sexual repression. You decide which is which.

Still feel an overwhelming desire to ascribe an adult reality to a beautifully nostalgic children's story with environmentalist overtones? Then consider this: The fantastical elements of My Neighbor Totoro can be chalked up to everyday, run-of-the-mill mental illness.