Tea and a Movie with Mr. Tumnus

Hello.  My name is Tumnus and I’m a Faun, from Narnia.  You might remember me from the movie The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, in which I played the role of myself while suffering from what I can only guess was some manner of induced fugue state, or perhaps from the book by C.S. Lewis, which I have not yet read although I have heard nothing but praise for it.  If I seem altered from the Tumnus with whom you are familiar from either of these sources, well, I am older than I was then, but it could also be possible that I have been somewhat coarsened by my failed attempts to adapt to your world of Spare Oom.  If you wish to read about the many ordeals I have endured during my time here, you may do so at therealtumnus.tumblr.com, but please, only do so if you are consumed by a feverish level of interest in my affairs, for I fear it does go on a bit, much like this paragraph.  Oh dear.

Today’s tea is Organic Green Tea with Ginger.  It is delicious and refreshing but beyond that, there is little to say.  One expects a bit of Bohemian eccentricity from a tea with “organic” in its name, but philosophical non-sequiturs are strangely absent from the box it came in. 

The tea I planned to drink today (which would have made for a more fruitful topic, as the banality of its name is entirely at odds with its deliciousness, which could have led to a discussion of Mr. Shakespeare, in particular the quote from Romeo vs. Juliet, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” which in the case of the rose I believe to be quite true, as there is nothing irreplaceably wonderful about the word “rose,” but I do think, on the other hand, that this tea, the tea in question, would benefit from a more seductive name) was Green Tea Citrus Slim.  However, in preparation for this post, I took a closer look at the box and noticed that it is actually intended to aid in one’s attempts to lose weight; philosophical non-sequiturs are replaced by medical warnings and precautions.  I have been drinking a great deal of it lately, to put it mildly, which might explain why I have not been able to sleep, and why the few scraps of sleep I have been able to snatch from Hypnos’ jaws have been riddled with nightmares, and why my muscles have been surfacing like long-lost whales from the rotund ocean of my midriff.  So I shall be taking a break from Green Tea Citrus Slim.  Adyoo*, stomach muscles!  It makes me glad that we were granted at least this one last chance to reminisce.

I shall not be discussing Roderic the Hot today, for that cinematic does not exist.  It seems I misremembered the title of the movie Hot Rod.  There is no doubt in my mind that the filmmakers know the tricks of their trade far better than I, and it would be impertinent indeed for an amateur, an interloper, a vagabond such as myself to suggest otherwise, but doesn’t Roderic the Hot conjure a vista teeming with far more unexplored possibilities than Hot Rod?  Who is this hero Roderic?  Why is he so hot?  Does he wear armour enchanted with a spell of Enheating?  What perilous scrapes he must get into, to make such apparel necessary!

Compare this to Hot Rod.  I am relatively new to Spare Oom but even I can see that it is suggestive, in a sly manner, of the temperature and shape of the masculine member.  Yes, by all means, let us go see that film instead, rather than the grand tale of Roderic and the source of his mysterious heat!  I am sure it shall be much more enjoyable and edifying!

Desist, Tumnus.  You sound like your old father.

That provides a convenient segue into my foremost problem with this movie: the relationship between Rod-not-Roderic and his Stepped Father.  Just as puerile masculinity looms over the proceedings in the form of the title, the Stepped Father is a constant, virulent Spectre in Rod-not-Roderic’s life.  Not content to dominate him during their violent brawls, he seeps into Rod-not-Roderic’s brain where he whispers without cessation the tenets of his misguided code of masculinity, which values physical strength and insensitivity over a pure heart and a willingness to dream.  His influence over the young lad is so pervasive that the only recourse Rod-not-Roderic can imagine is to follow an alternate exemplar of hollow masculinity, in the form of his Birth Father.  There would be something life-affirming about his refusal to concede defeat even after learning that his Birth Father was, in truth, an exemplar of little more than the dangers of eating pie too swiftly, were it not that Rod-not-Roderic remains oblivious to the fact that the romantic ideal of the Birth Father was just as much a product of the Stepped Father’s cruelty as Rod-not-Roderic himself.  The idol may be broken, but the ideals have lost none of their warped potency.

And all of this is played for laughs!  I wept for poor Rod-not-Roderic.  When he unleashed the forbidden sequence of blows on his Stepped Father and raised his fist to the sky in jubilation, while his victim – soiled and shamed – sagged in the background, I wept hot tears for the stupid boy, for he had learned nothing from his ordeals, thus guaranteeing that the absurd cycle of cruelty would survive for at least one more generation.  I wept for his children, and for the children of his children.

And I have not even mentioned the side-story in which Rod-not-Roderic is abandoned by his Animal Spirit Guides whenever he needs them most.  Most distressing!

But please understand, I am not suggesting that this cinematic was grim from start to finish, only that the merriment was at odds with the subject matter.  There were moments of giddy joy sprinkled throughout, even during the most emotional scenes.  This movie was a tonal Rolling Coaster!  A few moments of particular frivolity were Rod-not-Roderic’s peculiar pronunciation of words beginning with the letter W, his prolonged fall down the mountainside (painful though it appeared), the silly Two Of Hearts dance, the triumphant riot (I do not know how else to describe it), the sublimated rage of the man with the ill-conceived tattoo, the taco vs. grilled cheese fight, and this bit of transcendent nonsense:

If the film had been two well-meaning halfwits saying “cool beans” to each other for its entire duration, I might be tempted to crown a new King of Cinematics in Spare Oom.  But that is not the film we have at hand, and so, if ten Upward Thumbs is equivalent to The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and zero Thumbs could be compared to drinking so much Green Tea Citrus Slim that one loses all balance and perspective and flies into an unthinking rage at the slightest provocation, much like the Son of Adam with the moustache and the strange hair in this cinematic, I would venture to suggest that Hot Rod deserves… four Upward Thumbs?  Although it made me laugh on occasion, I cannot in good conscience award any more Upward Thumbs to a film that propagates what I find to be such a problematic message.

I do not know when I shall next find the time to write about movies but when I do, the movie shall be A Very Long Engagement, or, as it is known in Fronsay, Oonlong Deemonjede Fionsayee*.  Until then, take care, my friends, and please do not assume that every tea you find hidden amongst other teas on a store’s shelf is safe, lest it transform you into a nightmare-plagued walking skeleton.  Who says that the life of a tea enthusiast lacks adventure?

*Fronsay