Reading
G.K Chesterton's frankly biazarre introduction of The
Man who Was Thursday, I
came to the realisation that I'm not much of one for slavish
deference to an authorial purpose in any story-form.
It's
all very well for Chesterton to insist that his work is not an
allegory when the text states, with all the subtlety of a bill-hook
to the throat, that it is. Likewise, Mr Lewis can declaim to the
heavens that his work is purely allegorical and nothing else, but...
well, we'll let the text bear its own witness to that1.
A text is an artefact which is mediated by many viewpoints. Of course
the author's conscious intention, their decision of where to focus,
what to show, guides the narrative and the reader along its path,
but...
None
of us exist in a vacuum. Culture, tradition, unconscious thoughts,
will shape a story as much as a writer's intention. And when a
narrative artefact – like a folk-song, like a screenplay - is
passed through many, many hands which shape, change affect before it
even reaches its audience, then, oh, then, we can get something
really special.
So, a little while back, the brilliant
i09 published a link to a rather ingenuous piece of back-engineering
which tried to lay to rest the sheer WTF the viewer is left with
after watching that absolutely superb film, Labyrinth.
Now, before we go
any further I should probably come clean about my credentials as one
of those women. You know the ones, the kind who owe their
sexual awakening to staring rapt at David Bowie prancing about in
eye-liner, a fright wig and eyewateringly tight tights. So
when I talk about Labyrinth, I have a tendency to.... um....
 |
| oooh.... |
Er... sorry.
Where was I?
Right!
Anyway, that
article is followed in the comments by a bunch of (weighs word
choices) sticklers who insist that we already knew what
Labyrinth was about, that any good geek would, at some point,
would have plugged into google 'wait – what the hell. What was
actually happening there?' and come up with a nice neat little
explanation2.
- Sarah's actress mother abandons her to live a life of romance with a beautiful actor who bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain Mr Bowie.
- Devastated by this abandonment, she retreats into a fantasy world, idolising her absent mother, romanticising her affair. In the meantime, she gets involved with drama at school, being cast in a play called 'The Labyrinth' where a beautiful princess has to rescue her step-brother from the realm of the Goblin King. While doing this, she develops a crush on her drama teacher who also has a striking likeness to a particular famous musician actor with the most amazing eyes....
....... - .... sorry. You lost me again.
- The Goblin King – who actually exists and is in love with Sarah – wants this child for some specific reason that is VITALLY IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT, goddammit!3
- Sarah is rehearsing the play in the park and having trouble remembering the last line.
- Dragged away from rehearsals AGAIN, Sarah fights with her stepmother, is left to babysit. Discovering one of her toys has been nicked and the baby will not stop crying, she imitates the play and summons the Goblin King to take her brother away..
- Enter David Bowie in a big cloak and much glitter. Terms of a mystical contest are struck.
- Sarah navigates the Labyrinth, befriends the Goblins and, despite dangers, trickery and discouragement, ***spoilers*** rescues the baby using the lines from the play that she had trouble remembering. Before she does so the Goblin King confesses his love and offers her an eternity of magic.
She arrives back home, gives the baby the toy he stole earlier, packs away her Princess music box and takes down the press clippings of her mother from around the mirror. This, it is clear, is all behind her now.
Who would not want this child? - However, Sarah is not quite ready to leave behind all the 'good' bits of her imagination. All the goodies and baddies from the Labyrinth, minus the Goblin King, have a big party in Sarah's room.
- Baby Toby is safe.... however, the Goblin King will return to seize this baby that he wants SO MUCH.
Now, this makes a
lovely, neat little morality tale. It's all about, oh,
growing up, taking responsibility and not bargaining away your
younger siblings to morally dubious supernatural entities just
because they've been borrowing your teddy bears. As an explanation,
however, it falls short, mostly because almost none of it's in the
fucking film in the first place. It's all very well for Chesterton to
exclaim, “I called it The
Man who was Thursday: A NIGHTMARE! It's
not supposed to be taken as anything more than that!” because,
well, credit where it's due, that is actually the bloody title, but
to try and control the interpretation of a film based upon stuff
that isn't actually in the film? Oh, go
and read some Barthes.
What
makes this worse is that Labyrinth,
against the film maker's
best intentions, against their stated desire to tell a certain story
in a certain way, Labyrinth,
I tell you, persisted in
being one of those white-hot, cultural-narrative,
finger-on-the-pulse, don't-step-too-close-or-it-will-burn-you, vital
bloody stories of which
we do not have enough. Labyrinth
is a story about a young
woman discovering her sexuality but – again, again, oh be still my
beating heart – from the inside. We see it through the young
woman's flesh, the young woman's eyes. We feel the male gaze, the
judging, older female gaze which tells us what we should be - “Go
back to your room and play with your toys,” “You should be having
dates at your age”, and we feel it scald our as-yet-untouched-skin.
And,
of course, again, it is white, cis, middle class, heteronormative
femininity. It isn't for everyone, it isn't inclusive,
but damn it, when even the most privileged of women have to make do a scant handful of stories that show us as we actually are, they they too precious, too fucking scarce not to be celebrated. So, let's get this clear Labyrinth
is a woman's story, and
as one woman to anyone who's listening: Toby is the King of all McGuffins.
Think about what I'm offering you: your dreams.
An assumption which I would like to shoot down right now is that Sarah
treats her baby brother badly. Sarah is fifteen years old and, once
again, she is stuck at home with a kid (“We'll be back around
midnight”). Okay, perhaps it's hyperbole when she says, “You
go out every weekend” but her stepmother doesn't deny that she isn't
even asked any longer
because, “you'd tell us if you had a date.”
Now, this dismissal of complaint is backed up by an implication that she is failing in her femininity: “I'd like it if you had a date. You should be having dates at your age.” But what is Sarah doing instead of getting groped on the backseat of a bus, or trading hickeys in a cinema? She is in a park, dressed as a questing Princess, acting out the story from a book.
Now, this dismissal of complaint is backed up by an implication that she is failing in her femininity: “I'd like it if you had a date. You should be having dates at your age.” But what is Sarah doing instead of getting groped on the backseat of a bus, or trading hickeys in a cinema? She is in a park, dressed as a questing Princess, acting out the story from a book.
 |
| Basically, me at 13. |
Damn
it, she's not just
still immersed in make-believe, she's immersed in kick-arse
make believe.
 |
| Cannot promise I haven't done this. |
Still,
however harmless her intentions, enter David Bowie.
And
this is where it gets interesting. Read More
1Perhaps
another day.
2Which,
rather amusingly, has vanished under that much more entertaining
explanation in the Google listings. Muahahah.
3
No. I have no idea. Very convenient it's specifically Sarah's little
brother he wants, though, isn't it?
4Especially
as a) it is not her child and b) she doesn't think anything is going
to happen....
I think I was already older and more jaded when I first watched Labyrinth, so I didn't really appreciate much of it. Also, David Bowie in tight pants doesn't really do it for me. But this was educational nonetheless.
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