I finally saw Trollhunter, the Norwegian monster mockumentary notable for having achieved some box office success last summer in the U.S. (at least here in Seattle). Trolls, the terrifyingly mishapen griants out of Norse mythology, are real; the Norwegian government, like the American government in the Xfiles, conspiratorially keeps this secret from the public. Occassionally, the monsters stray from their remote wilderness territories, threatening human and animal life. It then falls to Hans (Otto Jespersen), the government's designated troll hunter, to track down and exterminate them--humanely, if possible, but above all discretely. Under no circumstances are the people to discover the truth, that trolls are real. Human fatalities of troll attacks are blamed on bears. But, disgruntled by the thankless task of "troll management," Hans permits three determined college students to observe and film him at work. After all, the people "have the right to know."
Though I found Trollhunter a satisfying blend of horror, humor, science fiction and satire, it left me slightly disappointed. The word-of-mouth recommendations I received were all glowing. I let my expectations get high. It's a good movie--unpretentious, funny and fun. Early on, it achieves genuine suspense. It just didn't live up what I wanted to see.
Sadly, an American remake of Trollhunter is already in production. Americans are a parochial people. Like baby birds, we need our cinematic fare chewed up and regurgitated for us: Americanized. Scandinavians watch Holywood movies all the time.They don't require, as we seem to require, their own specially-tailored versions of even the pulpiest of motion pictures. What's the matter with us?
I predict the American Trollhunter will
(1) have twenty times and budget of,
(2) and be less than half as good as the original.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Utoya Massacre Update
Confessed mass murderer Anders Breivik, self-described "military commander in the Norwegian resistance movement and Knight Templar Norway," had his first public court hearing in Oslo on Monday. "I acknowledge the acts, but I do not plead guilty," he said, adding that the court had no legitimacy because it was sanctioned by multiculturalism, "a hateful ideology that aims to destroy Norwegian society." The judge remanded his custody through early February. Breivik's lawyer, Geir Lippestad, has asked that his client be freed. He must also be insane.
Brievik requested permission to address the relatives of his victims, who had been permitted in the courtroom with him for the first time. What might he possibly have said to the mothers and fathers of the children he slaughtered? The judge denied Brievik's request, and ruled that he is to remain in solitary confinement. He will be allowed access to newspapers and visitors next month. His "sadistic torture" continues.
Breivik's trial is tentatively scheduled to begin in April. Before then, the courtroom will be restructured to double its current capacity, and include a press center for the hundreds of journalists expected to be covering the trial. Breivik faces up to twenty one years in prison. That's not a typo. It's not a sick joke. The man who murdered 77 people, most of them teenagers, in a record three hour killing spree last June, could be a free man under Norwegian law by the time he reaches his mid fifties. If additionally charged under "crimes against humanity" he could be out by his early sixties.
I can't honestly imagine that, law or no law, Anders Brievik will ever walk free. Some loophole, even in liberal, rights' vigilant Norway, surely will be found to keep him locked up in a cage forever. In a perverse way, it's unfortunate. If by some miracle he ever was released, vigilante justice presumably will quickly, finally, end his life. But I believe he'll spend the rest of his existence confined within and provided for by the very maternalistic state that he railed against.
Maybe that was his deepest intention of his apocalyptic rampage. To crawl back into the symbolic womb of the state.
Brievik requested permission to address the relatives of his victims, who had been permitted in the courtroom with him for the first time. What might he possibly have said to the mothers and fathers of the children he slaughtered? The judge denied Brievik's request, and ruled that he is to remain in solitary confinement. He will be allowed access to newspapers and visitors next month. His "sadistic torture" continues.
Breivik's trial is tentatively scheduled to begin in April. Before then, the courtroom will be restructured to double its current capacity, and include a press center for the hundreds of journalists expected to be covering the trial. Breivik faces up to twenty one years in prison. That's not a typo. It's not a sick joke. The man who murdered 77 people, most of them teenagers, in a record three hour killing spree last June, could be a free man under Norwegian law by the time he reaches his mid fifties. If additionally charged under "crimes against humanity" he could be out by his early sixties.
I can't honestly imagine that, law or no law, Anders Brievik will ever walk free. Some loophole, even in liberal, rights' vigilant Norway, surely will be found to keep him locked up in a cage forever. In a perverse way, it's unfortunate. If by some miracle he ever was released, vigilante justice presumably will quickly, finally, end his life. But I believe he'll spend the rest of his existence confined within and provided for by the very maternalistic state that he railed against.
Maybe that was his deepest intention of his apocalyptic rampage. To crawl back into the symbolic womb of the state.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Axel Axgil
Axel Axgil, the gay rights activist instrumental in making Denmark the first country in the world to legalize same sex marriage (1989), has died. He was 96.
Originally named Axel Lundahl-Madsen, he and his partner, Eigil Eskildsen, defiantly amalgamized their first names into the shared last name of "Axgil." They were in prison for distributing pornography at the time.
In 1948, Axel organized "the Association," one of the earliest gay rights groups, upon being terminated from his job for being a homosexual. Forty one years later, he and Eigil were the first gay couple to be legally married in European and, I presume, modern world history.
Originally named Axel Lundahl-Madsen, he and his partner, Eigil Eskildsen, defiantly amalgamized their first names into the shared last name of "Axgil." They were in prison for distributing pornography at the time.
In 1948, Axel organized "the Association," one of the earliest gay rights groups, upon being terminated from his job for being a homosexual. Forty one years later, he and Eigil were the first gay couple to be legally married in European and, I presume, modern world history.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Nordic 9/11
The government buildings that were ripped open in last July's bombing are still cordoned in Oslo. Nearby Utoya, the island where the bomber then slaughtered scores of children, remains riddled with hundreds of hollow point bullet holes. The scars of a devastating terrorist attack are fresh on the Norwegian landscape.
They're also fresh on the Norwegian national psyche. "We haven't got to the stage where people have gotten mad yet," said Norway's king Harald in a rare interview. "I think we'll go through that as well. That has to come and go before we finish with this. And we have to let that happen."
According to the New York Times, King Harald is widely percieved by his nominal subjects to have performed adaquately in the aftermath of the attack, giving a moving speech on television, and weeping at the national memorial service for the 77 victims Norway's homegrown, right wing Christian terrorist.
His Majesty referred to the attack, predictably, as Norway's 9/11.
King Harald, the first native born Norwegian king since the 14th century, is scheduled to arrive in these United States later this year, with his wife, Queen Sonja. The royal couple will visit Manhattan's ground zero for a second time, before heading off to Minnesota to address the American Scandinavian Foundation.
They're also fresh on the Norwegian national psyche. "We haven't got to the stage where people have gotten mad yet," said Norway's king Harald in a rare interview. "I think we'll go through that as well. That has to come and go before we finish with this. And we have to let that happen."
According to the New York Times, King Harald is widely percieved by his nominal subjects to have performed adaquately in the aftermath of the attack, giving a moving speech on television, and weeping at the national memorial service for the 77 victims Norway's homegrown, right wing Christian terrorist.
His Majesty referred to the attack, predictably, as Norway's 9/11.
King Harald, the first native born Norwegian king since the 14th century, is scheduled to arrive in these United States later this year, with his wife, Queen Sonja. The royal couple will visit Manhattan's ground zero for a second time, before heading off to Minnesota to address the American Scandinavian Foundation.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Swede Wins Swedish Prize
Swedish Poet Tomas Transtromer, 80, whose work "explores themes of isolation, emotion and identity while remaining rooted in the commonplace," according to the New York Times, has been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. I'd never heard of him.
Here's one of his poems, "The Couple," also courtesy of the Times.
They switch off the light and its white shade
glimmers for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then up.
The hotel walls rise into the black sky.
The movements of love have settled, and they sleep
but their most secret thoughts meet as when
two colors meet and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. But the town has pulled closer
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.
They stand close up in a throng, waiting,
a crowd whose faces have no expressions.
Here's one of his poems, "The Couple," also courtesy of the Times.
They switch off the light and its white shade
glimmers for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then up.
The hotel walls rise into the black sky.
The movements of love have settled, and they sleep
but their most secret thoughts meet as when
two colors meet and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. But the town has pulled closer
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.
They stand close up in a throng, waiting,
a crowd whose faces have no expressions.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Nansen
"I am an enigma to myself," wrote Fridtjof Nansen. After devoting months to reading about him, thinking about him, he remains an enigma to me. A year ago I hadn't heard of Nansen. That fact alone now astonishes me. How is it possible? This much I do know about Nansen: his name needs be known by everyone of Scandinavian ancestry; it deserves to be remembered by everybody.
My job is to convince you. To that end, I have before me a sheaf of notes from various sources, more pages than I care to count, many of them typed and amended. I have educated myself in the history and techniques of polar exploration, the histories of neuroscience and oceanography, the independence of Norway, and post-Great War diplomacy and humanitarianism--the diverse areas in which Nansen left enormous contributions. I have read two biographies of the man. I have read one book by him: Farthest North, his account of the unsuccessful effort to be the first man to the North Pole. I have also perused general histories of Arctic exploration, in all of which Nansen inevitably features prominently. I have reread all the chapters of my several general Scandinavian histories in which his name appears.
But I still can't seen to scale his heights, plumb his depths, or circumnavigate the range of his achievements.
But I retain a shred of hope, as usual, from synchronicity. Last Wednesday, I hiked along a stretch of Puget Sound shoreline with a friend. A bright, blustery cold day turned dark as the sun sunk behind the Olympic mountain range--a superior spectacle to most movies, and free. We visited the massive statue of Leif Ericson which, thanks to the Nordic Heritage Center, stands guard over a harbor full of creaky yachts in north Seattle. But even in the shadow of Leif, it was Fridtjof Nansen who I couldn't shut up about. What he did and what he didn't, and how, and why-- and what a fit I was working myself into by my inability to summarize him, or even formulate a good plan for describing him. I must have tested my companion's patience with my ranting. I can only hope he wasn't listening.
Later, we re-routed to his office, to wait out the southbound traffic and continue our conversation, which had mercifully turned to other subjects. I excused myself to the shitter, grabbed a magazine at random from the several that were available--Outside, as it happened-- opened to a page at random, and met immeidately with an article commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen's conquest of the South Pole (1911). Brief and breezy though it was, the article mentioned Amundsen's mentor, Fridtjof Nansen.
The gods, it seems, won't let my thoughts stray far.
***
Roald Amundsen, by the way, was also once a candidate for the Scandinavian 81. I consider him now a longshot, an honorable also-ran, impressive though his achievements were in every way. He has been overlooked, as the article claimed, in the English speaking world, because he of his British rival, Robert F. Scott. The two of them raced, with their teams, to be the first man to set foot on the South Pole. Amundsen and the Norwegians won by over a month. Scot arrived at the Pole to find a Norwegian flag planted triumphantly in the ice. Scott and his men had little time to regret their defeat--they all froze and starved to death on the return trip. They lost the race, and their lives. But Scott left a journal of the futile expedition. It was discovered with his body, and when published made him a national hero, a martyr to British imperialism, and the focus of national adulation.
Maybe it better for Scott to have died. While one Norwegian explorer, Roald Amundsen, was destroying his dream to be the first man to the South Pole, another, the famous Fridtjof Nansen, was having an affair with his wife. Never in history can an Englishman have been more thoroughly ill-used by the sons of Norway! At least he was spared ever having to learn about it.
My job is to convince you. To that end, I have before me a sheaf of notes from various sources, more pages than I care to count, many of them typed and amended. I have educated myself in the history and techniques of polar exploration, the histories of neuroscience and oceanography, the independence of Norway, and post-Great War diplomacy and humanitarianism--the diverse areas in which Nansen left enormous contributions. I have read two biographies of the man. I have read one book by him: Farthest North, his account of the unsuccessful effort to be the first man to the North Pole. I have also perused general histories of Arctic exploration, in all of which Nansen inevitably features prominently. I have reread all the chapters of my several general Scandinavian histories in which his name appears.
But I still can't seen to scale his heights, plumb his depths, or circumnavigate the range of his achievements.
But I retain a shred of hope, as usual, from synchronicity. Last Wednesday, I hiked along a stretch of Puget Sound shoreline with a friend. A bright, blustery cold day turned dark as the sun sunk behind the Olympic mountain range--a superior spectacle to most movies, and free. We visited the massive statue of Leif Ericson which, thanks to the Nordic Heritage Center, stands guard over a harbor full of creaky yachts in north Seattle. But even in the shadow of Leif, it was Fridtjof Nansen who I couldn't shut up about. What he did and what he didn't, and how, and why-- and what a fit I was working myself into by my inability to summarize him, or even formulate a good plan for describing him. I must have tested my companion's patience with my ranting. I can only hope he wasn't listening.
Later, we re-routed to his office, to wait out the southbound traffic and continue our conversation, which had mercifully turned to other subjects. I excused myself to the shitter, grabbed a magazine at random from the several that were available--Outside, as it happened-- opened to a page at random, and met immeidately with an article commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen's conquest of the South Pole (1911). Brief and breezy though it was, the article mentioned Amundsen's mentor, Fridtjof Nansen.
The gods, it seems, won't let my thoughts stray far.
***
Roald Amundsen, by the way, was also once a candidate for the Scandinavian 81. I consider him now a longshot, an honorable also-ran, impressive though his achievements were in every way. He has been overlooked, as the article claimed, in the English speaking world, because he of his British rival, Robert F. Scott. The two of them raced, with their teams, to be the first man to set foot on the South Pole. Amundsen and the Norwegians won by over a month. Scot arrived at the Pole to find a Norwegian flag planted triumphantly in the ice. Scott and his men had little time to regret their defeat--they all froze and starved to death on the return trip. They lost the race, and their lives. But Scott left a journal of the futile expedition. It was discovered with his body, and when published made him a national hero, a martyr to British imperialism, and the focus of national adulation.
Maybe it better for Scott to have died. While one Norwegian explorer, Roald Amundsen, was destroying his dream to be the first man to the South Pole, another, the famous Fridtjof Nansen, was having an affair with his wife. Never in history can an Englishman have been more thoroughly ill-used by the sons of Norway! At least he was spared ever having to learn about it.
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