Have we lost our ability to grasp fundamental myths about human nature? Has Hollywood collaborated with the kinder, gentler ideological establishment to gut not only our best stories, but our best efforts to capture essential truths about who we are?
Stephen Asma thinks so. Writing in the Chronicle of Higher Education, Asma charts how the classic tale of Beowulf has been softened and distorted by a politically correct rendering that sees heroism as suspect and that renders monstrosity as synonymous with being misunderstood.
At first Beowulf seems to join the ranks of other recent films that champion pre-Christian masculine virtues. History-based blockbuster hits like Zach Snyder and Frank Miller's film 300 (about the battle of Thermopylae) or HBO's series Rome, are unapologetic celebrations of macho competence. The popularity of these pseudohistorical films took many media pundits by surprise, but the audiences who felt the testosterone buzz from the hero stories (myself included) were not surprised in the least. And the experience is not just the visceral Freudian holiday of aggression that one finds in inferior action and slasher pictures. Rather, there is a distinct sympathy for honor culture in these films — brute strength, tribal loyalty, and stoic courage actually get things done.Academe finds all this loathsome and backward, and, of course, our liberal culture is ostensibly opposed to the social hierarchies, patriarchy, and chauvinism of older honor cultures. But narratives and representations about heroic strength (even flawed and misdirected) remain deeply satisfying for many people.
[...]
The monsters of the original story were portrayed as odious and evil to the core — triumphed over by manly courage and strength. A truly Christian monster, however, will not really be a monster at all, but only a confused soul who needs a hug rather than a sword thrust. Christianity seeks to embrace the outcast, not fight him. Christianity celebrates the downtrodden, the loser, the misshapen.
Zemeckis's more tender-minded film version suggests that the people who cast out Grendel are the real monsters. The monster, according to this charity paradigm, is just misunderstood rather than evil. The blame for Grendel's violence is shifted to the humans, who sinned against him earlier and brought the vengeance upon themselves. The only real monsters, in this tradition, are pride and prejudice.
[...]
But more interesting than these plot changes is the character adjustment. In the original, Beowulf is a hero. In the new film, he's basically a jerk, whose most sympathetic moment is when he finally realizes that he's a jerk. It's hard to imagine a more complete reversal of values from the original Beowulf story.
[...]
Contrary to the original Beowulf, the new film wants us to understand and humanize our "monsters." Moreover, the film seems to follow Tolkien's view that proud "heroes" should see themselves as part of the problem rather than the solution. Zemeckis's Beowulf repeatedly indicts himself, telling his long-suffering wife, "I'm sorry, I was weak."
Many academics will probably appreciate the new emasculated Beowulf (thinking it more psychologically sophisticated and more appropriately critical of machismo), but I'm not convinced this new version transcends and nullifies the heroic original. ... Beowulf might survive Grendel. But in going up against the 21st-century guilt trip, he may have met his match.
One of the artistic tragedies of our age is our seeming compulsion to turn any story into a simplistic morality tale about self-esteem. The psyche really is larger than our weaknesses, our wounds, and our navel-gazing absorption in same -- but our imaginations are struggling to retain recognition of that.