Welcome to Stuart Fernie’s Blog
Penny Forum
Reflections on a variety of films and topics - Seven Samurai, It's a Wonderful Life, Don Quixote, We're no angels, War for the planet of the apes, Dunkirk, The African Queen, Babette's Feast, Dances with Wolves, The Prisoner (1967), Inherit the wind, humour in drama, nature of regret, the influence of multimedia, memoirs of a teacher of French.
Saturday 7 October 2023
Introduction
Characters and themes in "Living" (2022)
Reflections on “Living” (2022)
Directed by Oliver Hermanus
Written by Kazuo Ishiguro
(Based on “Ikiru” by Akiro Kurosawa,
which was in turn based on Tolstoy’s “The Death of
Ivan Ilyich”)
Starring Bill Nighy, Aimee Lou Wood and Alex Sharp
Mr
Rodney Williams is a bureaucrat in charge of the Public Works department of
London County Council in 1953. He leads a somewhat robotic, passionless and
unfulfilled existence, unaware of or having forgotten the possibilities of an
alternative life. Life for Mr Williams and his work colleagues is rather taken
for granted and its potential is wasted as opportunities are allowed to escape
them or slip through their fingers.
Mr
Williams’ colleagues, of varying ages and temperaments, all display the
contagious effects of peer pressure and conformity, and are succumbing to the
reassurance of security and habit at the expense of personal dynamism and
fulfilment. Only Miss Margaret Harris displays enough gumption to show
character and seek change, though we will see that she experiences similar
issues in her next position as well. Mr Wakeling is the keen young innocent
through whose eyes we witness this claustrophobic and mind-numbing situation,
and he offers hope in terms of humanity and youthful optimism, though we see
through the example of the others just how easily he may eventually be worn
down to become a shell of a man devoted to administrative competence.
Mr
Williams in particular has become a creature of unquestioning conformity and
habit. He lacks energy and is numbed by the repetitive relative inconsequence
of his life as he fulfils an administrative rather than active role within
society without truly considering what he wants from life or how to make the
most of the life he has.
That
is, until the moment he is told his life is coming to an end and he realises
that possibilities for the future are limited and, indeed, that the future
itself will soon be no more. Perhaps like most of us, he thought he had plenty
of time to do things later while he focused on issues in the present.
He
struggles to share his news with his son. Although they live in the same house
and they care for and respect one another, each finds it difficult to open up
and share inner feelings and thoughts. Just as Mr Williams has played a role in
his office, so he appears to have played the part of a caring father but has
failed to bond emotionally and share his thoughts, dreams and fears with his
son, perhaps because the daily grind and constant repetition have overwhelmed
him and left him a conditioned shadow of himself, unable to bridge the
emotional gap between himself and his son.
As
a result of this distance between them, Mr Williams sees news of his impending
demise as bothersome and a burden to his son, further suggesting that while he may
have played the practical role of father perfectly efficiently, he has failed
to commit and engage emotionally with the role.
This
distance and difficulty with engagement may also be viewed as an element of a
broader “game of manners” in English society at that time. An emphasis on
politeness, etiquette and formality, combined with emotional reticence, a
refusal to reveal inner thoughts and display feelings, and an insistence on
self-control may have led to stunted emotional growth and may even have
contributed to a lack of self-fulfilment both personally and professionally.
This is beautifully observed throughout the film but especially in the
interactions between Mr Williams and his colleagues, as well as with his son.
This is also a theme common to a number of Mr Ishiguro’s works.
Upon
consideration of his rapidly upcoming fate, Mr Williams decides to have some
fun and he heads to a seaside town for that purpose. He also contemplates
taking his own life while there, though in the end he realises he doesn’t have
it in him to go through with it.
Despite
striking up a friendship with a local free-spirited young writer, he comes to
realise he doesn’t really have it in him to have fun either. Ultimately, it
seems he is seeking some kind of fulfilment and these “fun” activities do not
provide the gratification or contentment he craves.
He
next develops a friendship with Miss Harris whose zest for life he finds
admirable and he hopes she will be able to inspire a similar dynamism in him. He
sees what he has become and remembers fondly his childhood days full of life
and full of hope, and he comes to see that the fulfilment he seeks must come
from within him. Miss Harris does, however, offer an essential and very
pertinent piece of advice, that he should return to work.
At
work, he recalls a project to do with the construction of a children’s playground
that has been stuck in bureaucratic limbo for months and that inspires hope and
a sense of purpose in him. He sets out to ensure this playground will be
erected on a derelict site – a place where children can have fun, develop social
contact and escape the drudgery of post-war life. It is also a place that will
become the focus of the remainder of his life and will, indeed, become his legacy.
He wishes to leave behind something positive, something worthwhile which will
be a source of pleasure, fun and hope for years to come and he overcomes
physical and human obstacles to ensure its completion. It will also stand as a
testament to what can be achieved through positivity, determination and purpose
as opposed to simply allowing life to slip through your fingers and leaving the
Earth with no sense of fulfilment.
Mr
Williams’ actions inspire his colleagues who come to admire his spirit and
determination to achieve something in spite of red tape and bureaucratic
resistance, and they vow to follow his example. However, shortly afterward we
see once again that the daily grind, social pressure and lack of leadership and
inspiration take their toll and these colleagues once again fall into a
blinkered and self-absorbed outlook, though hope for change survives in the
shape of Miss Harris and Mr Wakeling.
This
is a film that entreats us to appreciate life and its possibilities, and to do
something we consider of worth, contributing to and nurturing, if possible, the
lives of others with our time here on Earth. It is a slow-burn character piece
that engages and builds nicely to a touching and inspiring conclusion. The
design and costumes are brilliantly evocative of the period while the script captures
the language and tone of the era, as well as fleshing out the characters
beautifully. The performances are affecting all round, though Bill Nighy
deserves special praise for his highly engaging tour de force.
My
thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some
value.
Stuart
Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)
Friday 22 September 2023
Brief reflections on characters and themes in John Boorman’s “Hell in the Pacific” (1968).
Brief reflections on “Hell in the Pacific” (1968)
Directed by John Boorman
Written by Reuben Bercovitch, Alexander Jacobs and
Eric Bercovici
Starring Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune
Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune play American and Japanese soldiers stranded on a deserted island in the Pacific during WW2.
In such a situation of isolation and mutual dependency, it is clear that it would be advantageous to set aside political, cultural and historical differences as both men have to confront the challenges of nature, a motif common to a number of John Boorman’s films, in order to ensure survival.
However, even here and in this situation, the clash of their political and cultural backgrounds carries over and each tries to get the better of the other. On top of, or perhaps because of a failure to communicate, each regards the other with suspicion and fear, showing scant understanding and consideration for one another as human beings, opting to maintain their established and ingrained hostility, seeking to prove superiority and refusing to share resources. Each also shows cunning, courage, determination and spirit, suggesting a positive outcome is possible if only they can overcome mutual distrust and fear.
This small island and the issues these men are facing may be viewed as the Earth and its human population in microcosm. Mankind is split into a variety of political, social and cultural factions who, ultimately, would benefit from cooperating with one another to ensure survival and security for all rather than vying with one another to ensure personal or national success.
Each of our protagonists does, eventually, get the better of the other and both show a fundamental humanity as neither can bring himself to kill the other, though they do try to hold one another in check and control one another. The Japanese soldier displays order and a need for precision, while the American is more relaxed and haphazard, but each shows himself capable and strong, and neither is obviously superior to the other.
The whole would seem to be a metaphor for warring nations and peoples seeking to gain control over one another or gain advantage at the others’ expense, with arguments over food, water, territory and property, all the while failing to see the bigger picture.
Finally, there appears to be a realisation that they are going nowhere, physically and figuratively. This is not verbalised, but there develops an underlying, if uneasy, trust between the two. This trust is doubted from time to time, and this doubt is based on previous “conditioning” rather than their experiences on the island.
Eventually, they find a common cause and take on nature together, helping and saving one another. By now their cultural differences have been forgotten as they focus on the here and now. After their escape across the sea, they come across land which could be under the command of either nation, and each is protective of the other.
Through these two soldiers, we are shown how people can live and prosper together if they focus on what they have in common, including common dangers and challenges, rather than concentrate on their differences.
However, once again surrounded by cultural memories and photographic reminders of “reality”, they start picking at one another, only for both to be killed in a bombing raid on the island, indicating the madness of war and the possible result for mankind if we allow our differences to overwhelm us.
Much has been made of alternate endings for the film. I have only ever seen the destructive one, but apparently there is another version in which they argue and go their separate ways. I must say I find the former more effective in terms of a warning of the implied ultimate result if we fail to make the effort to get on together.
This
intense and spare film, featuring just the two main characters, will not be to
everyone’s taste, but it does bring its own thought-provoking rewards. Although
the film fared poorly in terms of box-office results on its release, it is now
rightly considered to have cult status.
My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.
Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)
Monday 18 September 2023
Reflections on characters and themes in John Boorman’s “Point Blank”, focusing on the nature of the main character, Walker.
Reflections on "Point Blank"
Directed by John Boorman
Screenplay by Alexander Jacobs, David Newhouse and
Rafe Newhouse
Starring Lee Marvin, Angie Dickinson and Keenan Wynn
The story is a remarkably simple one. A thief, Walker, helps his friend
Reese steal a large sum of mob money. Needing more than his percentage, Reese
shoots Walker and makes off with both Walker’s share and his wife Lynne,
leaving Walker for dead. However, Walker survives the attack and seeks revenge
on Reese, as well as pursuing his $93,000 share of the heist.
Prior to his shooting, when seen in flashback, he appears to be a fairly
happy-go-lucky rogue who is sociable, genuinely fond of his wife and displays a
fundamental humanity when he tries to prevent Reese killing the messengers in
the original heist. However, post-shooting, he is quite amoral, is willing to
use violence and death to achieve his goals, and acts coldly and efficiently, apparently
without conscience.
Walker is a strangely attractive amoral anti-hero. Perhaps because he
moves in an equally amoral world in which his opponents and victims are seen as
totally unprincipled mobsters hiding behind a façade of corporate
respectability, Walker is seen as more appealing and somehow more honest,
perhaps because he has been presented as a victim himself and because he is
acting with a purity of purpose, seeking only what is due to him. Reese and his
mobster associates make a costly mistake in refusing to recognise the justice
of Walker’s demand of payment of his $93,000, which has gone into the
"corporate" coffers.
The world in which Walker and these "businessmen" operate is
one in which law and order play no part, and where men do what they feel they
have to do in order to survive and make profit. Respect for law, order and
morality does not exist and our protagonists are on an equal amoral footing,
apart from belief in the principle of trust, loyalty and respect between
friends, and the principle of paying debts.
He is no angel, but Walker appears to have had respect for these basic
principles – he got involved in the heist as a favour to his friend, and he
appears (in the flashback sequences) to have been devoted to his wife. Used and
betrayed by both, and then by the organisation which profited by his
involvement and shooting (and which, in Walker’s mind, inherits Reese’s debt on
Reese’s demise), Walker is the outraged victim who fights back.
He has learned there is no right and wrong, and there is no loyalty. He will
use the organisation’s own methods against them to reclaim his money, though
there are hints that below the surface of anger and determination there is an
underlying humanity which he may be willing to share with deserving cases.
Walker’s overwhelming characteristics are anger, purity of purpose and strength
of resolve, but without the suggestion of underlying humanity he is no better
than his opponents, and there would be little interest in seeing him succeed.
Each of the main characters has his or her own agenda in the film. They
all have their own reasons for involvement in Walker’s situation and revenge,
but there is no question of right, wrong, or of morality – it is always down to
personal choice. When Walker asks for his sister-in-law Chris’s help, she asks
"Why should I?". Walker’s reply is a simple “It’s up to you”,
indicating we are firmly in “film noir” and existential territory. Chris’s
involvement is based on revenge, highlighting the idea that we all pay the
price of our actions and indiscretions through the reactions of others whose
lives we touch. We are all free to act according to our cut and conscience, but
there may be a price to pay, as Reese and his organisation discover to their
cost.
However, there is another element which adds interest to both Walker
himself and the film as a whole, and one which may help explain the enigmatic
ending. Did Walker really survive the attack on Alcatraz, or is Walker an indignant
and distressed spirit out to gain vengeance on those who did him wrong?
While this may at first seem an unnecessary and romantic complication, there
is evidence to support the theory that Walker did in fact die on Alcatraz, and
we are watching his spirit seek retribution on those who have profited from his
demise.
When Walker is shot, he is lost and confused though he was seemingly mortally
wounded.
Walker discovers the whereabouts of his wife and he sets out to see her
for the first time since his shooting. His approach, purposefully marching
along a corridor, driven by his contained fury and aggrieved determination,
brilliantly conveys his feelings and we see the impact of his return on his
wife Lynne who appears to have been waiting for this moment when she must face
her past and her sense of guilt.
These confrontation scenes have a certain ethereal, almost atemporal
quality, causing some confusion as they are disjointed and we are unsure of the
chain of events and timescale. Events are not presented in a linear fashion,
but seem to depend on perception or perspective.
After Lynne’s suicide we have no clear notion of the passing of time. As
Walker moves from one room to another, he remains the same, but the rooms are
substantially changed, and Walker seems almost surprised, as to him (and us)
these scenes are continuous. This may simply suggest upset on Walker’s part (he
is certainly distressed by his wife’s death), or it may suggest a different
continuum or perspective.
These scenes, together with others in which time seems to jump (meetings
with Yost, scenes at Brewster’s home) suggest an ethereal, almost mystical or
other-worldly quality to Walker’s very existence.
Evidence that Walker may have an ulterior motive while pursuing his debt
comes when he gives his wife’s money to her sister after Reese’s death. As she
takes the money, she comments on how unlike him this action is, saying "You
did die at Alcatraz". Despite the fact he is ostensibly pursuing his money
from the organisation, it seems money is not as important as revenge for the betrayal
he has suffered. This charitable act toward his sister-in-law also suggests his
underlying, if selective, humanity. Even when he is apparently unpleasant to
Chris at Brewster’s home, is he not trying to drive her away in order to
protect her? Once again, these actions allow the audience to sympathise with
him and root for him in his quest, but they may also suggest a broader understanding
and purpose on Walker’s part.
After various attempts to recover his money have failed, leading to the
deaths of various members of the organisation, Walker eventually makes contact
with Fairfax who, it seems, is willing to pay him. The payment is to take place
on Alcatraz, therefore bringing the film full circle. Once again Walker is on
Alcatraz to steal his money and perhaps be killed in the process.
Fundamentally, his apparent death and all the subsequent events have had no
effect – nothing has changed. The organisation continues to operate, the drop
still takes place, and someone is still willing to steal the money.
At the end of the film Walker appears to retire to the shadows, leaving
his debt unpaid. However, he has avenged himself on those who betrayed him, and
in the end that was what it was all about – not the money. He has apparently
been used as an instrument of furthering Fairfax’s position in the “company”,
but Walker has also used Fairfax as a source of information. In fact, they have
used each other to their mutual benefit. Walker has taken vengeance on those
immediately responsible for his demise and may now be at peace. He may also recognise
that, in the end, human nature will win out and the cycle of corruption will be
repeated. Although a number of people have died and personal scores have been
settled, the organisation remains intact, and nothing has really changed. In
the end no real purpose was served – Point Blank.
This is an excellent thriller from John Boorman who made it all the more
intriguing and thought-provoking by using a mixture of styles. At times
straight hard-nosed thriller, but laced with almost surreal moments suggesting
mystery over the very nature of Walker’s existence and mixed with film noir
elements and some black humour, this is an immensely watchable thriller with
excellent performances from Lee Marvin and Angie Dickinson in particular.
The masterstroke, however, is in the possibility that Walker is a ghost
who must act to avenge himself before he can rest in peace. This adds a certain
moral mystique to Walker’s quest, suggesting the possibility of ultimate
payback for our actions while the end also implies that ultimately no lessons
are learned and no change is effected in the face of human nature and weakness.
My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it
of some value.
Stuart Fernie
Brief reflections on characters and themes in “Vera Cruz”, directed by Robert Aldrich, starring Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster.
Brief
reflections on “Vera Cruz”
Directed
by Robert Aldrich
Screenplay
by Roland Kibbee and James R Webb
Starring
Gary Cooper, Burt Lancaster, Denise Darcel and Cesar Romero
Film noir and
existentialism are ideologies which challenge the traditional view of morality
and even its very existence through the eyes and experiences of disillusioned,
even amoral characters who can win as well as lose. They are usually associated
with crime or gangster genres, but “Vera Cruz” takes some noir and existential
concepts and applies them to the western.
Take a politically
volatile setting in which traditional values regarding national sovereignty and
autonomy are challenged and add a couple of main characters who do not
demonstrate what might be viewed as typically western characteristics in that
they appear to accept and support the dubious values set at the start of the
film, and you have an intriguing and somewhat disconcerting exposition with no
clear hero or moral cause to root for.
A brief historical
digression might be helpful at this point…
Our film takes place
during the Second Franco-Mexican War of the 1860s. France, under Napoleon the
3rd, wished to re-establish its empire’s interests in the Americas and ousted
President Juarez with the help of Mexican conservatives who wished to protect
their own interests and see a King replace the President. Austrian Emperor
Maximilian was made head of state but there was great resistance in the form of
Juaristas who sought to re-establish Juarez as President.
Aided and abetted by
Spain and Britain, the French agenda was for purely commercial and financial
gain and, as suggested in our film, such an overtly self-serving incursion and
conflict inevitably attracted mercenary adventurers, unfettered by conscience
and principle, who would be willing to risk their lives in exchange for wealth,
advancement and adventure. One such individual is Joe Erin, a self-centred
manipulator of situations and people who professes and recognises no loyalty
except to himself. Joe is charming but, in his heart, he is quite amoral and he
has the skills and determination to bully and manipulate others for his own ends
without consideration of the consequences for those he uses.
Into this moral morass
wanders Ben Trane, a former officer in the Confederate Army who has lost
everything – his home, his position, his pride and his moral compass, at least
to some degree. He appears willing to work for Emperor Maximilian if the price is
right and he will go on to consider stealing a fortune in gold, though not
simply for himself, but to help restore his family home and business. We learn,
then, that he may be disillusioned and is dabbling in distinctly amoral
activities, but there is a higher purpose to his actions.
He may have chosen this
theatre of war to sell his skills exactly because the French action is
essentially amoral as they seek to take advantage of and plunder what, to
Trane, is a foreign land and Trane thinks he will feel no sympathy, attachment
or qualms. However, he discovers an empathy with the Juaristas who, like Trane,
have lost their homes, their society and their freedom. In the end, Trane
cannot act selfishly when he sees a cause greater than his own needs.
As is so often the case
in films noirs, the “hero” learns to recognise a purpose or cause in which he
can believe or which restores his humanity and belief in principle having lost
them through experience and suffering. We may be surrounded by amorality but it
is left to the individual to decide whether or not he or she will follow that
path, and so the scene is set for a show-down of sorts between the amoral
mercenary Joe and the disillusioned but fundamentally principled Trane.
“Vera Cruz” may be
relatively slight and obvious but it paved the way for other more overtly
challenging, insightful and perhaps even realistic portrayals of moral conflict
within the western genre, and the flag of existential confrontation was flown
in such films as “Ride the High Country”, “The Magnificent Seven”, the
spaghetti westerns and, of course, “The Wild Bunch” which all owe something to
the premise and style of “Vera Cruz”.
My thanks for taking the
time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.
Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)
Brief reflections on “Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness” and thoughts on other modern action/adventure films.
Brief
reflections on “Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness”
and
thoughts on other modern action/adventure films.
Although I tend to write
about relatively weighty dramas with major themes, I do enjoy the occasional
romp in the form of a blockbuster or a superhero film. I was quite impressed by
the early Marvel outings which made an effort to build character and regularly
dealt with worthy themes beneath the superhero antics.
I can’t say I’m a big fan
of fantasy films but I quite enjoyed “Dr Strange” as I found it an imaginative
extension of the human experience anchored in inner conflict and principle,
with a focus on plot and character development, all within a framework of
imaginative and challenging perceptions of possible, if improbable, realities.
I found the latest sortie
of Dr Strange into the multiverse spectacular and very well made, but this time
I felt largely uninvested in the characters and uninvolved in an overly
contrived plot that was served by a glib script. The audience is entirely in
the hands of self-indulgent filmmakers as we are thrown from one outlandish and
extreme situation into another, with little consideration of pace, character
development or consistency. I see these as “hooks” that encourage an audience
to actually care about the fate of the characters and plot progression, but as
it is, they appeared to be mere puppets to fill one forced action sequence
after another. Curiously, the only character who invites compassion is the
misguided and unstable villainess at the centre of the piece, yet little work
is done to build any sense of tragedy or even regret over her fate.
Spectacle and speed are,
of course, essential to gloss over gaps in logic and justification. Indeed, if
you think about the content in any depth (and that is ill-advised on the
grounds of danger to mental health), you may conclude that the audience is treated
with quite remarkable disrespect as events unfold and characters react
seemingly at the whim of the writers with little thought of an old-fashioned,
well-plotted storyline that might have had meaning or relevance to the
audience.
The problem with this
film, and with so many other modern action-adventures, is that it seems
anything can happen at any point, apparently without the need for real
justification or explanation, but then films whose plots are constructed around
concepts for action sequences, stunts, and opportunities for a director or star
to show off technique and style, are likely to lack plot integrity and
engagement as themes and character development are sacrificed to spectacle and
visual thrills.
All that said, “The
Multiverse of Madness” is remarkably well made and remains fast-paced
reasonably entertaining fare with smatterings of a knowing humour, yet its
qualities also serve to undermine concern for characters and interest in the
plot as the lightness of script and lack of consequence contrasts with
atmosphere and situation.
In so many modern action
adventures, and this is certainly not restricted to films from the Marvel
stable, action sequences often constitute a veritable onslaught on the senses
in terms of pace, extravaganza and sheer deafening volume, and this actually
has the effect of desensitising and even disengaging the audience, whose
understanding and commitment are sacrificed to spectacle and visual thrills
with little attention paid to integrity and cohesion.
Another weakness is the
sheer length of the film. Why is it assumed that a longer playing time means a
better film? Adding action sequences and unnecessary plot developments, which
risk transforming adventure films into soap operas, may only make the
experience more tiresome and may suggest a lack of appreciation or
consideration on the part of filmmakers for plot integrity and audience
response and thresholds. Self-indulgence of this nature does nothing to enhance
the quality of the film and may well detract from it.
Although the blockbusters
of the summer of 2023 have fared reasonably well at the box-office, it has been
suggested they have fared considerably less well than hoped, and those
filmmakers disappointed by their box-office returns might do well to consider
just why people are failing to flock to their films and should consider the
quality of their scripts and product rather than blame social issues, financial
pressure and even the weather for disappointing attendance.
Big, brassy stunts and
set-pieces should enhance or complement a good, engaging storyline, not replace
it. Cinema-goers return to view sequels not because of the action sequences but
because they care for or are entertained by the characters and plots. A good
action film will put substance, heart and mind over stunts.
My thanks for taking the
time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.
Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)
Brief reflections on the meaning and import of “Il faut cultiver notre jardin” at the end of “Candide”
Brief
reflections on the meaning and import of “Il faut cultiver notre jardin”
at
the end of “Candide”
I have greatly enjoyed
writing up my vaguely philosophical thoughts on a variety of films and the odd
book, and then offering them up for acceptance or scorn on various internet
platforms. It has given me pleasure and satisfaction to think my articles were
of some interest to a relatively small group of people, but it occurred to me
recently that my thoughts are purely notional and subjective, and are likely to
have little, if any, practical or long-lasting effect. This somewhat
disheartening train of thought led to the notion that philosophy itself could
be regarded as unfulfilling, as it leaves questions unresolved and, indeed,
only ever leads to more (unresolved) issues. Consequently, I wondered if it
wouldn’t be better to abandon such cerebral activity and simply focus on the
practical business of living.
This rather despondent
conclusion brought to mind “Candide”, the first philosophical book I read in
French. However, unable to put my hands on my 47-year-old copy of the book, and
wishing to read the final paragraphs of the work which summarise the
conclusions reached by the “hero” of the tale and his friends, I searched “il
faut cultiver notre jardin” (we should cultivate our garden) in Google and was
somewhat taken aback by what I found.
Rather than a link to the
text that I was hoping to find, I came across a series of interpretations of
this famous phrase:
We must put our own
health first.
We should improve
ourselves.
We must cultivate our
minds.
We should seed and sow
thoughts and ideas.
We should develop a
perspective by rational scepticism, not simple faith.
I was stunned.
These readings are, of
course, valid interpretations of the isolated sentence, but are considerably
less valid as an interpretation of Voltaire’s famous philosophical work whose
final words, “il faut cultiver notre jardin”, summarise the hero Candide’s
response to the physical and philosophical journey he has taken in the course
of the tale, and as such should not be taken out of this broader context.
In the end, Candide and
his friends conclude that work is the way forward as reflection, historical
knowledge and philosophy essentially do little to help mankind survive – these
are beautiful indulgences which may cause confusion and distress while work
frees them from boredom, vice and need. This is encapsulated in the line,
“Travaillons sans raisonner, c’est le seul moyen de rendre la vie supportable”
(Let us work without reflection, that’s the only way of making life bearable).
In my opinion, “il faut
cultiver notre jardin” should not be taken out of context and should be
regarded as an appeal to focus on practical efforts to get by in life, and to reject
excessive thought, though it should be pointed out that our “heroes” only reach
that conclusion by indulging in philosophical thought.
It is perhaps ironic to
note that the first philosophical book I read, one that helped launch many
reflections on a variety of topics, also contained the conclusion I would reach
some 47 years later, though I also felt the need to “philosophise” in order to arrive
at this conclusion.
My thanks for taking the
time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.
Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)