Life After Hogwarts

I know I'm not the only one who misses Hogwarts. Horrible epilogue be damned, I wanted to know what happened after Harry and company 'graduated' and went on with their lives. In fact, I think the reason that so many readers were pissed off by Rowling's implied "happily ever after" is that we knew there was more growing up to be done. What happens after you finish your fantastic adolescent journey and find yourself faced with the less magickal world of adult responsibility? What happens when people with godlike powers start getting drunk and screwing other non-adults wielding godlike power? If you've had these questions, boy do I have a book for you.

Lev Grossman's The Magicians is a work of astonishing, and thoroughly refreshing cynicism in the fantasy coming of age genre. There is hope at its heart, and a thin thread of optimism underlying the narrative, but the pervading tone is sullen and its message is intended to be sobering. Despite my inevitable Harry Potter comparison, Lewis' Narnia series is a stronger influence than Rowling, but the book addresses issues that haunt both series and others like them. In fact, it presents a bold but compelling thesis about the deficiencies of fantastic coming of age novels: Fondness for fantasy ultimately stems from a dissatisfaction with the world we are given, and by extension, people who yearn for magical power are not merely harmless escapists, but those who are determined to warp and change the world beyond normal means. Like I said: cynical.

Harry Potter was occasionally very sad, but I never found it truly heartbreaking. All things considered, death is a fairly neat and clean fate for a character, especially when it is construed as 'noble' or 'heroic.' Grossman is crueler to his characters. He has them make the sort of mistakes that haunt and scar you for life. The book may not be more honest than other fantasy novels, because I believe there are important truths to be found in those sunnier texts, but Lev Grossman is certainly wields his truth more aggressively. And frankly, I think that is what I love most about his prose. Every word is edged with a type of tension, or grim humor. Even the celebratory scenes are tempered by recklessness and risk; this sense that things could get very bad and very out of control at the drop of a dime.

Stolen from xkcd.

In addition to being a criticism of genre, The Magicians is a serious critique on modern society as well. Grossman's fictional Magician class is a wonderful metaphor for over-privileged, self-interested, upper-middle class America. Main character Quentin Coldwater is a genius living a charmed life that grows more enchanted with every passing second. Yet he is unhappy and unsatisfied, even when he is accepted into Brakebills (think Hogwarts on the coast of the Hudson River) and he starts to master the awesome powers of magic. Even when he finds a place with the powerful "Physical Kids" clique. He can't escape the feeling that he was meant for something bigger and better, like the adventures in the Fillory and Further books he read while growing up.

I want to write more, but I don't want to give anything away. Honestly, I think the book's website and jacket give away too much of the plot. It's solid gold. Though to be honest, a disclaimer is in order. I am a 22-year-old, soon-to-be college graduate with a borderline Peter-pan complex. This book was written for me. Your millage may vary. But if you're a fan of Potter, or Narnia, or D&D, or World of Warcraft, or anything along those lines, you should pick up The Magicians.

Sick Ass

From the moment I saw my first Kick-Ass trailer on YouTube, I was hooked. It's one of those incredibly promising premises I wish I had thought up myself: An average high school boy decides to become a real-life superhero. And that's it. The kid has no super powers, no traumatic past to fuel his efforts, or billionaire fortune to finance . Just a desire to do good by beating up bad-guys. It's a funnier, more realistic, and less political approach to the Watchmen concept, and like that other masked vigilante epic, Kick-Ass was adapted from a comic book by the same name. But is the movie any good? Absolutely. It is hilarious, visually stunning and entertaining throughout. But it's also more than a little disturbing.

Kudos to whoever came up with the paint spatter motif for the posters.

Staying true to the trend set by Watchmen, Kick-Ass is ridiculously violent, but unlike that other masked vigilante movie, there is a deeper meaning to the uncompromising blood-shed; it essentially allows the movie to function as a sort of cautionary tale. It answers the main character's question "Why has nobody tried to be a superhero before?" People do not dress and fight crime because they would be beaten, shot at and gutted. Even more importantly, the vigilante would be forced to inflict the same death sentences on his prey. It is Batman's no-kill rule that allows him to remain appealing despite the brutal nature of his justice. It's also the most fantastic aspect about his character. Kick-Ass essentially calls bullshit on Batman, and shows people just how bloody being a superhero would be.

At the same time, Kick-Ass pushes the boundaries of aestheticized violence and popular taste. There are two brilliantly choreographed fight scenes in the same vein as The Matrix's seminal lobby shoot out that convincingly present mass murder as something balletic and beautiful. The hook is, both of these massacres, and another intense first-person-shooting scene, are performed by an 11 year-old-girl, acted by a 13 year-old-actress. Hit-Girl is the boldest, most horrifying incarnation of the Child Soldier archetype I have yet to encounter, and yet I couldn't help but cheer as she butchered drug dealers and scum bags with ropes, knifes, guns and swords. Her attacks were simply too creative, and too cleanly executed to not admire, especially when her skills are contrasted against the bumbling titular hero, who spends most of his time in-costume getting beaten up.

There she is, Big Daddy's little murderer.

Even more unsettling than Hit-Girl's actual fight scenes are her training scenes. In what might be his best role since Matchstick Men, Nicholas Cage plays a profoundly disturbed Ex-Cop turned costumed vigilante dubbed Big Daddy; think Batman with guns and a murderous daughter instead of Robin. He buys her daughter butterfly knives for her birthday, drills her on her crime-related factoids, and trains her how to take a gunshot with a bullet-proof vest.  Even though the movie has the decency to point out the truly sick nature of his revenge scheme, the outcome of the story seems to condone his heinous training, leaving a truly immoral aftertaste in the brain.

At the same time, there is more to the movie's message. Dave Lizewski is a truly likable main character, and his super-heroic coming of ages covers topical bases like becoming an Internet celebrity and trying to woo a girl despite rumors of being gay. The movie also lambastes a number of familiar superhero tropes, like rescuing lost cats and talking like a pompous douchebag. The catch is, the ugly, unfunny violence is as much a part of the social commentary and as the simple laughs.

I haven't read the Kick-Ass comics yet, but after watching the movie I fully intend to. I've found that comics are often a more comfortable medium for digesting violence than film, though I understand that they are every bit as violent as the film.

The tag-line is certainly accurate as far as the movie is concerned.

If you are a fan of Superhero flicks, consider Kick-Ass required viewing. Don't take Grandma or the parents though. They may find the violence hard to swallow. Hell, you might too.