Avatar depicts classic archetype in a fresh way
It's an entertainment juggernaut that shows no signs of slowing down: Avatar—a world apart and larger than life. As a box office phenomenon and multiple Oscar nominee, Avatar has passed beyond its cinematic boundaries to stake a claim in popular culture. And because of this prominence, it has been poked, prodded and perused for the measure of its message.
Marshall McLuhan's famous proclamation, "the medium is the message," rings true of Avatar. James Cameron (director/producer) has irrevocably altered the movie-going landscape with his combination of sophisticated 3D effects, seamless CGI (computer generated imagery) and ultra-realistic animation.
Avatar, however, is no one-trick special fx pony. Decoding the film's subtext has captured the imagination of the blogosphere as fully as the water-cooler conversationalists. It's a subtext that comments on the film's themes of ecological conservation, the inherent dangers in colonialism and militarism and on native spirituality.
Pandora, the beautiful but untamed planet targeted for its mineral wealth, is the setting within which the Na'vi—Pandora's indigenous people—are portrayed. Avatar's depiction of the Na'vi and their culture has elicited criticism from the Vatican for winking at "all those pseudo-doctrines that turn ecology into the religion of the millennium." Considered in the context of Pope Benedict's recent pronouncements, it appears the Vatican may view Avatar as a promotional tool for neo-paganism.
Interestingly, in a recent article in the Globe and Mail, documentary film maker Richard Meech cites numerous parallels between the Na'vi's communion with Eywa (a personified nature deity) and the rituals of Amazonian rainforest natives who use a sacred medicine, ayahuasca, as a means of healing and as entrance to the spirit world. One of the most interesting parallels is some users' reported sensation of feeling connected to the plant life of the planet as if part of a giant matrix.
The problem with the Vatican's criticism is that Pandora and its residents are still the product of a work of fiction—and science fiction at that. To imply, subtly or otherwise, that the film evangelizes in support of a brand of native spirituality is a charge notoriously hard to prosecute.
Avatar has other critics besides the Vatican. The most persistent criticism is that its storyline is derivative—a futuristic Pocahontas or Dances With Wolves set on another planet. Such similarities must be acknowledged, but likewise it must also be recognized that popular storytelling invariably uses familiar archetypes—prototypical characters, conflicts and situations—that are deeply embedded in every civilization's cultural narrative. Separated lovers are forever Romeos and Juliets, while mismatched opponents are Davids and Goliaths. Coming of age rites occur in every culture, whether celebrated as a bar mitzvah or tested in the walkabout of an Australian aboriginal youth.
If you recognize the occurrence of these archetypes in Avatar, you might also recognize the story of a man from an otherworldly place who so identifies with a different group of people that he takes on their unique form and champions their cause against those who would destroy them. Such a story is almost…well… biblical. A lack of originality in plot can certainly be tolerated if a story portrays a classic archetype in a fresh way. In that, Avatar succeeds.
When I ask my friends what attracted them to Avatar, they usually say it was the visual spectacle. Others admitted, when pressed, that they went simply because everyone else was going. Who wants to be left out of the loop? Yet, I'm left wondering whether or not it is, in fact, another archetype that is at work beneath the surface, drawing us in.
Pandora is a spectacular world; even its name is suggestive of unsullied natural beauty. And while the Na'vi are not innocents—they are capable of jealousy and distrust—they live in a world that is, for all intents and purposes, paradise.
We who are citizens of planet Earth are acutely aware that our paradise has been lost. Our loss was documented in the early chapters of Genesis and vividly described by Milton. Its echoes are heard in popular songs, "We are stardust, we are golden, and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden" (Joni Mitchell). It is, perhaps, this entrenched human desire to get back to the garden that draws us to be witness to a place where, even beyond the struggle and violence, we see Paradise Regained.
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