Notes
on the pressing politics of the film:
Fantastic
Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018)
Undoubtedly, Fantastic
Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018) is a flawed film. Flawed in the sense
that even now, thinking about the conclusion several months after the initial
viewing, I'm still reminded of the unanswered questions, the character
inconsistencies and the bizarre narrative loose-ends that defined the overall
experience. Some (but not all) of these issues will be cited towards the end of
the text, but for now I wanted to focus exclusively on a facet of the film that
was successful; specifically the
film's pointed political subtext, which feels necessary, and perfectly tailored
to its intended audience.
The film's predecessor,
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (2016), had been something of a
revelation for me. Seeing the film for the first time early last year (and with
no prior relationship or emotional investment with the "Harry Potter"
mythology) I'd expected something that was at best mildly entertaining, if not thematically
disposable. Surprisingly however, the first "Fantastic Beasts" film wasn't
just entertaining as a work of fiction, it was also interesting and genuinely progressive;
elevating the standard CGI fantasy tropes and second-hand Potter references
with its relevant themes, unconventional characters and astonishingly powerful
subtext.
What I loved most about "Fantastic
Beasts" was that it seemed to go against the conventions of the average
Hollywood blockbuster; creating a central character in Newt Scamander that was
shy, socially-awkward, pacifistic, non-confrontational, passionate about
nature, intellectual without being smug and sensitive to the suffering of
others. I also loved how the film was largely about the dangers of prejudice;
how the relationship between the 'wizarding' and 'non-wizarding' worlds was
used as a metaphor for historical segregation, and how the third act of the
film carried an incredibly moving commentary on the realities of abuse trauma;
how the pain of abuse can manifest within the victim as a figurative darkness
that destroys everything.
Fantastic
Beasts and Where to Find Them [David Yates, 2016]:
This second instalment takes
the same sub-textual, socio-political ideas a step further. From the moment
Johnny Depp's black-clad, leather-booted Grindelwald steps out onto the
cobbled-streets of 1920s Paris, it's clear the filmmakers are evoking the Nazi
occupation. In both his ideology and general appearance, Grindelwald from the
start is a fascistic archetype; his pale skin and shock of white hair evoking
the image of the Aryan Übermensch. Similarly, the way Grindelwald encourages
his fellow wizards to join the cause by playing on the second-class nature of
humans and our capacity for war and prejudice, carries with it some very
ominous similarities to the "know-your-enemy" fear-mongering used
during the rise of National Socialism (to say nothing of the similarly divisive
language of certain far-right commentators currently gaining momentum across
Europe and the U.S.)
To make the association obvious,
the film's standout sequence has Grindelwald delivering a speech to a vast
public assembly within the grounds of what appears to be a grand Albert
Speer-like amphitheatre. As he outlines his 'anti-human' ideology, the title-character
conjures up a CGI nightmare of mid-20th century atrocity; one that will no
doubt appear astonishing to a child-audience unfamiliar with the horrors of
Auschwitz or the bombing of Hiroshima, but one that also carries a tremendous
sense of weight and emotional catharsis for the adult-audience as well. For me
it was by far the most radical scene in the entire film and one of the great cinematic
sequences from any film of 2018.
In terms of its
stylisation the scene is shot and organised like a Leni Riefenstahl film. It
frames Grindelwald against the seething masses of his gathered followers there
to hear him speak. It cross-cuts his impassioned call for revolution with
close-ups of his stoical audience gazing in contemplation. As an example of the
filmmakers using blockbuster techniques to engage in something that feels
pointedly political and essential to the current cultural conversation, the
entire sequence seems astounding; creating an obvious metaphorical counterpoint
on the lure of prejudice that is far more intelligent and nuanced than anything
in Guillermo del Toro's widely acclaimed but simple-minded "love conquers
all" fable, The Shape of Water (2017), and far more applicable to its
target audience as well.
Fantastic
Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald [David Yates, 2018]:
Grindelwald's
informal address to the assembly becomes a genuine political rally. One in
which the rogue wizard attempts to turn the tide of popular opinion against the
non-wizarding world. The look, the design, the rhetoric spouted by the title character
and the general iconography are each indicative of a deliberate effort to
connect the past...
Triumph
of the Will [Leni Riefenstahl, 1934]:
...to
the present.
Donald
Trump Holds Campaign Rally in Dallas [Tom Pennington/Getty Images, 2016]:
In
doing so, the filmmakers are not just drawing a parallel between the politics
of 'then' and the politics of 'now'; they're attempting to use the inherent distance created by the story's
fantasy context to safely explore ideas of fascism, extremism and the way
politics can be infected by populism (which can itself satiate a view of
prejudice, disillusionment and fear).
The whole sequence remains
incredibly significant to our understanding of the film's politics, and more
specifically to its commentary on the politics of populism. It shows how a
charismatic politician can play on the prejudices of individuals in order exploit
their sense of disillusionment, and how well they can twist and exaggerate public
fears in order to gain power and achieve their own political ends. In this
sense Grindelwald is also a surrogate for the current President of the United
States, Donald J. Trump. That the filmmakers present their 'Trumpian' avatar as
someone seductive, charismatic, even convincing - and not as some evil
two-dimensional monster that's as physically repulsive as they are morally so -
suggests a great deal of nuance. Just as cigarettes, alcohol and unhealthy
foods aren't historically sold in hideous packaging that show the reality of
what the individual is consuming, neither is fascism.
For all the cheap targets
one can fall back on in ridiculing Trump's position - the childish body-shaming,
the jokes about "orange-skin", etc. - the bitter truth of the matter
is that he spoke to the people; he
spoke to their fears and concerns, told them things would get worse, positioned
himself as the only man in America willing to do something about it. As much as
one might find his stance deplorable, or his attitude childish or narcissistic,
the fact remains, he spoke and the people listened.
In presenting a reflection
of this in the context of the film, screenwriter JK Rowling succeeds in showing
how previously rational, likeable and even sympathetic characters, such as
Credence and Queenie, can have their heads turned by extremism. The way political
parties can manipulate a particular perspective, arguing that left is right or
down is up; convincing people that the changes that pose the greatest threat to
the most vulnerable of society are changes for our greater good. It's a
remarkable example – even more so given its appearance in a film aimed at young
children – of how fascism throughout history has succeeded; not through
violence and threat, but by exploiting innate human weaknesses.
Fantastic
Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald [David Yates, 2018]:
Grindelwald's
premonition of the approaching human atrocity sees a projection of the bombing
of Dresden, the death camps at Auschwitz and finally the bombing of Hiroshima.
Keep in mind the film's 1920s setting, its backdrop of the financial crisis and
the looming poverty and austerity of the Depression, and compare it to the
modern world, its financial instability, its suspicion, its fear of the other,
etc. All factors that make a populace easy to manipulate.
Twin
Peaks: The Return - Part 8 [David Lynch, 2016]:
An
adequate screenshot of the atomic bomb blast that closes Grindelwald's propagandist
vision wasn't available at the time of writing, but let's contrast and compare it
to this significant moment from the 8th episode of Twin Peaks: The Return.
Here, David Lynch and co-writer Mark Frost present a kind of Twin Peaks origin
story in which the detonation of the atomic bomb becomes a sort-of catalyst; a
moment that seemingly gives birth to the darkness that eventually corrupts us
all.
By the end of the film
even the previously pacifist and non-confrontational Newt Scamander has been
forced to 'choose a side.' This parallels the same journey of the titular boy
wizard character in Rowling's other well-known property, "Harry Potter",
who begins the series in a state of innocence and/or wonder, and ends it as a
battle-scarred warrior framed against a landscape of violence and devastation.
For Rowling the implication seems to be that some wars are justifiable; that
even the pacifist or the innocent must eventually cast aside their anti-war ideals
to fight the good fight.
On a personal level, I'm not
sure I agree with this, but nonetheless, it's been the prevailing attitude
throughout history and unfortunately unlikely to change. If the "Harry
Potter" saga eventually became a kind of figurative mirroring to the
millennial experience as shaped by a culture of terror attacks and war in the
middle-east, then one could assume that with this film Rowling is drawing a
line from the past to the present in order to create not just a reflection but
a warning. A call to vigilance rather than action, both in the presentation of Grindelwald
(and the real-life associations therein) as well as in the acknowledgement that
the wars such people incite, have, historically, forced people into action;
that with this in mind we should stamp-out fascism at the very root (the
ideology; the belief) so that such wars need never happen again.
Which is why I think the
message of the film is significant, especially in the lessons it provides to
its young audience. Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald may be a flawed
work - a film that at no point ever feels like a complete narrative with a
beginning, middle and end, but like a necessity, only existing in order to
justify a third instalment in the franchise; a veritable mess of subplots and
conflicting characters, half-written back-stories and unanswered questions - but
it's a work that still communicates something to the betterment of society.
