“Gandalf’s got nothing on Ethan Gilsdorf, except for maybe the monster white beard. In his new book, Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks, Gilsdorf…offers an epic quest for reality within a realm of magic.” – Boston Globe

“Imagine this: Lord of the Rings meets Jack Kerouac’s On the Road.” – National Public Radio’s Around and About

“What does it mean to be a geek?…Freaks and Gaming Geeks tackles that question with strength and dexterity…part personal odyssey, part medieval mid-life crisis, and part wide-ranging survey of all things freaky and geeky. …playful. …funny and poignant. …It’s a fun ride and it poses a question that goes to the very heart of fantasy, namely: What does the urge to become someone else tell us about ourselves?” – Huffington Post

“Quite potent…heartbreaking…emotionally affecting …” – Washington Monthly

“Master geek theater.” – The Times of Trenton

Gilsdorf and his publisher have made a copy of the book available as a promotional item for TheoFantastique. Those interested in being part of the raffle for the volume can submit their name and address to johnm@theofantastique.com for a drawing on May 31. The winner will be notified via email.

Revision: Since the original posting of this announcement author Ethan Gilsdorf has offered to make a personally inscribed and autographed copy available to the winner.

In the post-Christendom context, this situation changes dramatically. I was reminded of this recently while watching 30 DAYS OF NIGHT. As the race of vampires continues its onslaught on the Alaskan town, they use an injured woman as bait to lure any humans out of hiding. When the ruse fails, the vampires turn on the woman instead. Realizing her impending fate, she falls to her knees and exclaims “Oh, God!” In response to her plea the lead vampire, Marlowe, mockingly looks up into the sky for any hint of divine rescue, only to look back at the woman and remark in matter of fact fashion, “No god.” In 30 DAYS OF NIGHT not only do we find an absence of the church, clergy, and Christian symbols, but the monstrous creatures deny the existence of God, or at least deny that a God is present who will provide any kind of deliverance to humanity from the forces of evil. The point to take away from much of contemporary horror is that, while it may be influenced by biblical and Judeo-Christian elements, the way in which these elements are treated is very different.

The entire article can be read here.

Terra tells the story of a winsome race of aliens whose planet is invaded by the last human survivors of an Earth our species has laid waste. In a particularly insidious form of colonization, the earthlings plan to oxygenate the aliens’ atmosphere–certain death for the Terrans. But thanks to one human dissenter’s friendship with a waiflike Terran revolutionary, the evil scheme is averted, its masterminds slain, and a permanent human colony erected on Terra to house the dissenting pilot’s peace-minded disciples.

In his article Bellin goes on to consider how well these films respond to our environmental challenges, and his verdict is not positive. For example, in discussing Avatar he writes that its

fundamental hypocrisy eclipses any putative environmentalist leanings: not only does Cameron’s film erase the historical fact that whites didn’t start to hanker for the Indians’ love of the land until they’d stolen and raped virtually all the land the Indians loved, but it reinforces the New Age belief that redemption from such historical sins can be earned through further consumption, the stockpiling of more commodified, otherworldly junk (faux dream catchers and sweat lodge ceremonies, Avatars on hi-def and Blu-Ray). Rather than calling for true reform here at home, which might actually cost something, Avatar turns once more outward, seeking salvation from another alien culture whose wisdom and whose world can be snapped up for a song.

No doubt fantastic films will continue to find inspiration in environmental challenges, but the question remains as to how well they will incorporate realistic responses for our times.

Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks is the story of Gilsdorf’s journey to understand his lifelong fascination with fantasy which began in the 1970s after his mother experienced a life-changing brain aneurysm. As a result of her injury, radical personality changes ensued, and with the resulting change in family and home Gilsdorf sought ways in which to grapple with the situation. He found it through a friend who introduced him to Dungeons & Dragons. D&D, a medieval-style role-playing game involving a roll of the dice, a rule book, spells, weapons, and characters, provided a fantasy scenario that became an important part of his life. As the realms of fantasy opened further Gilsdorf describes the expanding universe of alternative possibility that hinted at transcendence. Of the power and appeal of these realms he writes, “I didn’t believe in God, or in heaven and hell. But Middle-earth’s lands, or a D&D labyrinth, or a science fiction universe like Star Wars – those were places I could believe in, and visit as often as I liked.”

But as Gilsdorf grew older and reflected on his consuming desires for fantasy, coupled with his being in a different place than others his age in terms of career, romantic relationships, and family, this led him to begin a journey of reassessment of his youthful interests.

“How healthy was it to have devoted so much mental energy to a world that didn’t exist? Had we checked out of real life? What were the long-term effects? Did fantasy escapism explain why the person I’d become at forty now felt unsatisfying, and unsatisfied?”

With these pressing questions at the forefront of his mind Gilsdorf began a journey seeking answers. His quest covered a lot of territory in the expressions of fantasy, including, among other things, a visit to the United Kingdom to follow the trail of influential fantasy writer J. R. R. Tolkien, attendance at the Lake Geneva Gaming Convention, participation in a live action role playing event in Georgia, attendance at the Dragon*Con convention, and a visit to New Zealand to see some of the sites where Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy was filmed.

As Gilsdorf shares the development of his thinking at each of the visited locations he can’t seem to shake the idea that fantasy is equated with escapism, an adjective found frequently throughout the book and often used in terms of negative connotations in contrast with those able to engage reality without such a crutch. To be sure there are glimpses of hope from time to time that come through in Gilsdorf’s quest. He is aware of Tolkien’s view that humanity needs modern myths just as much as the ancients did, that fantasy escapism can be transformative for the individual in the real world, and that while fantasy can be just as addictive as other things engaged in with excess this is not necessarily the case, but in the end a deep immersion into the realms of fantasy end up as something to be abandoned.

Near the conclusion of his visit to New Zealand, after experiencing a mixture of exhilaration and disappointment as a result of viewing the sites of Jackson’s cinematic Middle-earth, Gilsdorf describes how he engaged in a symbolic act that moved from fantasy to the real world. While using Lord of the Rings figurines to re-enact a scene from the film where Frodo, Pippin, Merry, and Sam must get off the road to hide from the approaching Nazgûl, he experienced an epiphany as he heard a voice in his head. It told him to dig a hole and bury the figurines. He says of this act that, “Some force in me had felt some urge to put childish things behind me, and travel closer to adulthood, whatever that meant.” For Gilsdorf, the journey to explore the meaning of fantasy, in many ways a journey of self-understanding, meant that fantasy was childish, an unhealthy form of escapism that kept him from engaging the aspects of the adult world. The symbols of fantasy were buried, which meant for him that fantasy itself, at least to the extent that it played in his life previously, was better left behind.

I was very sympathetic to this book as Gilsdorf’s journey resonates in many ways with my own. While I have never played D&D, as many posts here indicate, fantasy, science fiction and horror have played and continue to play a significant part of my imaginative life. Much of my discussion of these topics here represents my own journey of understanding, not only of these genres themselves, but also of myself. But here is where my journey has taken me to a different place than Gilsdorf. In the past I too symbolically buried my fantasy life, but several years ago I dug up a few of these relics to reassess them. As a result I came to the conclusion that while fantasy and the broader realms of the imagination can indeed represent dangerous forms of escapism or obsession, this is not necessarily the case. In my view the realms of the imagination are largely positive, and I would suggest consideration of three different aspects not addressed by Gilsdorf (elements of an argument that readers can find in my chapter contribution to Halos & Avatars: Playing Video Games with God [Westminster John Knox, 2010]).

First, I have recently done some reading in the brain sciences for my work in religious studies, and some of this material indicates that our brains have evolved in such a way as to permit us not only self-awareness, but also the gift of imagination which allows us to envision alternative realities. As a result we have a long history as a species of mythic storytelling, and engagement with this process can be a very healthy one.

Second,we need to remember the importance of play. All higher mammals engage in this practice, so it is no surprise that human beings do as well. Yet Western civilization has tended to emphasize work to the expense of play, particularly with the influence of the Protestant work ethic, and this causes us to minimize the appropriateness of play, particularly for adults. But I would argue that play is a significant aspect of human experience that must be balanced with work and the other adult responsibilities of life.

Third, for those open to the possibility of transcendence, I would argue that the imagination, connected to play, represent important facets of human expression as homo fantasia, humanity as fantasy craving and creating creatures, and that this desire for fantasy can be understood at times as a quest for and participation in transcendence. Tolkien suggested something similar with his ideas concerning the creators of fantasy as “sub-creators,” and theologians would do well to revisit Tolkien’s thinking for fresh contemporary application in light of the continued and growing popularity of the fantastic in popular culture, as well as the ongoing process of re-enchantment in the West.

I recommend Gilsdorf’s Fantasy Freaks and Gaming Geeks for those who want to reflect not only on the author’s quest for the meaning and appropriateness of fantasy, but for their own personal journeys as well. I only wish Gilsdorf had been able to arrive at a more positive destination. Perhaps it’s not too late to switch paths to one that makes room for the fantastic on the road of life.

Related posts:

“Understanding the Appeal of the Fantastic: Escape from the Habitus to Promised Lands”

“Avatar’s Pandora Depresses Some Viewers: Utopia, Escape, and the Realized Ideal”

“Darkon: Documentary on Fantasy Role Playing Game”

Yet even with my strong emotional connection to Harryhausen and the stop-motion animation he perfected this doesn’t mean that I believe that every film he was involved with was of equal caliber. One film that I feel didn’t match the wonder of Seventh Voyage of Sinbad or Jason and the Argonauts was Harryhausen’s final film, Clash of the Titans (1981). There are several reasons why this film did not due well with audiences, not the least of which was the declining appeal of the classic mythology that Harryhausen had based so many of his movies on.

Because of my great admiration for Harryhausen’s stop-motion creatures, combined with my lack of appreciation for Clash of the Titans, I find I have mixed feelings about the remake of the film set for release on April 2. It remains to be seen whether audiences will embrace a revamped and action-packed Greek mythology, but I am pleased that Warner Bros. has retained the creatures found in the original, even if they are computer-generated. How will the new technology render these creatures compared with the artistry of previous decades? The trailer at the link above gives some indication, but at least in the case of Medusa, I think my money will stay with Harryhausen’s rendition. The new version is pictured above, and the scene from the 1981 film is found below. In my view Medusa is one of Harryhausen’s greatest creature animations, moving him very close in this context from fantasy and science fiction special effects technician to the creator of a dark, mythological, horror monster.

A few of the elements are obvious. The special effects through motion and performance capture technology add new dimensions to the computer generated aliens and the world of Pandora. The story, through the film’s title connected to the idea of experiencing reality through a surrogate self, taps into the experience of millions of people who assume multiple alternative identities in the digital realm through videogames, cyber worlds, and social networking sites. I have commented on some of this previously in another forum. But as important as these elements are I believe there are other more profound dynamics at work. Because Avatar was able to tap into these dynamics it has resonated with audiences accordingly. The first consideration is related to aspects of Roger Aden’s thesis on fan cultures and symbolic pilgrimages that I have mentioned previously. Specifically, I think his discussion of romantic narratives adopted in lieu of the failures of technological paradise are significant. This consideration must then be connected to Bron Taylor’s thesis concerning the growth of environmental and nature religions.

First, consider Aden’s thesis on fan cultures and symbolic pilgrimages. In his book Popular Stories and Promised Lands: Fan Cultures and Symbolic Pilgrimages (The University of Alabama Press, 1999), Aden discusses grand narratives in American culture that he describes as “dominant visions of sacred places.” One of the narratives that under girds America is its self-conception as a promised land, and within that context it has put great hope in technology as a means of realizing this vision. However, Aden states that despite all the great things technology has done for us, it also has its negatives, including the decline of spirit and community. In this regard Aden says “[t]he promised land of technological paradise has not only failed to deliver on its vision of economic plenitude, it contributes to a growing sense of displacement as members of a social community.” Due to the breakdown of grand narratives in the culture its citizens search the imagination for new narrative and mythic substitutes. Aden suggests that one of these is the narrative of romantic spirituality. He writes:

A second rhetorical response is a collection of romantic narratives in which we find a stable, communal place through spirit; the sacred garden community of others is the site of promised lands. These narratives are often cyclical in nature, promising a return to a natural, sacred home as one travels through life.

In this regard Aden mentions the significance of the “narratives of indigenous peoples.” This specific narrative has clear connection to Cameron’s sources of inspiration in the Polynesian/Maori and Native American peoples. In my view a romantic narrative of “sacred garden community” is a significant facet of the appeal of Avatar as the late modern technological promised land of America continues to erode in the thinking of many.

There is another facet that should be connected to the romantic narrative and that is the continued growth, appeal, and influence of the sacred, the spiritual, and even the religious in connection with the environment and ecological movements. Bron Taylor has discussed this in his book Dark Green Religion: Nature Spirituality and the Planetary Future (UC Press, 2009). As he describes this phenomenon, Dark Green Religion “considers nature to be sacred, imbued with intrinsic value, and worthy of reverent care..” The reference to “dark” in connection to the green is a dual referent, with application both to the depth of commitment of those to nature religion, and also to the possibility of a “shadow side” to the religion that “could even precipitate or exacerbate violence.” Both aspects are evident in Cameron, including the latter as revealed in an interview in Entertainment Weekly. In response to the statement by a critic that “Avatar is the perfect eco-terrorism recruiting tool,” Cameron said, “Good, good, I like that one. I consider that a positive review. I believe in ecoterrorism.”

Returning to the presence of not only an increasingly influential environmental movement but also the popularity of nature as sacred, when this is connected to concerns related to environmental sustainability, as well as Avatar‘s underlying panentheism, the divine within all living things in Pandora, indeed within the moon Pandora itself, it becomes apparent that Dark Green Religion holds great explanatory power for Avatar‘s appeal with audiences.

Periodically certain films surface at just the right time, adding to their appeal. Star Wars surfaced when the appeal of the fantastic had been percolating under the surface of pop culture since the late 1960s. The film gave audiences an imaginative alternative to the cinematic offerings of the 1970s. Likewise, I suggest that Avatar has the right formula for our time in combining a narrative of romantic community with sacred nature. This formula will likely catapult Cameron into what may be the two top spots in box office history.

On the fan forum site “Avatar Forums,” a topic thread entitled “Ways to cope with the depression of the dream of Pandora being intangible,” has received more than 1,000 posts from people experiencing depression and fans trying to help them cope. The topic became so popular last month that forum administrator Philippe Baghdassarian had to create a second thread so people could continue to post their confused feelings about the movie.

“I wasn’t depressed myself. In fact the movie made me happy ,” Baghdassarian said. “But I can understand why it made people depressed. The movie was so beautiful and it showed something we don’t have here on Earth. I think people saw we could be living in a completely different world and that caused them to be depressed.”

In some ways this situation is not difficult to understand. Presenting utopian (as well as dystopian) worlds has long been a facet of science fiction. Beyond this, as I’ve mentioned previously in discussing the work of Roger Aden’s Popular Stories and Promised Lands: Fan Cultures and Symbolic Pilgrimages (The University of Alabama Press, 1999), interaction with the fantastic through literature, television and film provides individuals with an opportunity to transcend the habitus of our daily lives in order to immerse themselves in alternative worlds of possibility. These journeys may be understood as functioning as a symbolic pilgrimage, and in some circumstances literal pilgrimage of a quasi-religious or sacred nature, as has been argued about some fans in connection with their participation at Star Trek conventions.

But while some fan reactions to Avatar and Pandora might be understandable at the levels of utopian thinking and the escape from the habitus, it is also tragic in that some are so depressed about the actual rather than the virtual world that they consider suicide. Perhaps the best kind of utopian thinking about imaginative realms is that which we not only yearn for but are also willing to work toward in making it a reality rather than contemplating the end of life because the ideal has not been made concrete.

Two articles in Religion Dispatches give me reason for pause in seeing the film, or at least to watching it more critically if I do decide to see it. The first is an article by Anthea Butler titled “Disney’s Lump of Coal.” The author’s displeasure with the film may be summarized with the words, “I’m going to go all out and say that the entire movie is a wholesale desecration of New Orleans, Creole culture, Cajun Culture, religion, zydeco music, the Evangeline story, and Louis Armstrong..”. In the second article, Michelle Gonzalez Maldonado focuses her displeasure with the film specifically on its treatment of Haitian religion in a piece titled “Bad Magic: Voodoo According to Disney.” Maldonado feels that “this film perpetuates offensive stereotypes about Voodoo.” As the author concludes the analysis she writes:

I did not expect critical race analysis or a sophisticated presentation of Voodoo when I walked into the theater. It is, after all, Disney. I did not expect such a blatant, racist, and misinformed presentation of Voodoo, however. The reduction of religion to magic is also reaffirmed in the curious absence of Catholicism in the film. My son is correct, Disney Voodoo is bad magic; it just doesn’t have anything to do with the authentic African Diaspora religion.

But how should audiences react to elements of race, culture, and religion as portrayed in a fantasy cartoon? Even Butler writes, “Yes, I know, it’s just fantasy, right?”

On the one hand, elements within a fantasy film take on the meaning given them by the writer of the story. This is a basic principle of literary, and by extension, cinematic interpretation. So it would be inappropriate to critique Harry Potter for providing “inaccurate” portrayals of witchcraft, since J. K. Rowling was creating a contemporary fairytale form of witchcraft rather than a representation of Wicca outside of her fantasy context.

But on the other hand, it would be a mistake to give fantasy a pass in terms of being divorced from the social and cultural context in which it is produced. Josha Bellin, author of Framing Monsters: Fantasy Film and Social Alienation (Southern Illinois University Press, 2005), reminds us that in addition to entertainment and escapism, fantasy has a dark side that is often missed because it is held to be separate from reality:

But of course, that’s what makes these films particularly powerful vehicles of social alienation, the phrase I use to suggest the whole range of processes by which marginalized groups are stereotyped, victimized, and scapegoated: fantasy films’ resistance to critical scrutiny enables them to perpetuate loathsome social ideologies under the guise of “harmless entertainment.”

My previous interview with Bellin on this topic as the thesis of his book can be found here, along with a second interview contrasting the original King Kong with Peter Jackson’s more recent version. Both interviews shed light on the need for a more critical reading of fantasy films that will enable viewers to gain a deeper appreciation of the many facets of fantasy and how they reflect social and cultural contexts. I offer this as food for thought for those who want to probe Disney’s latest cartoon offering beyond holiday cinema escapism.

In regards to Na’vi religion, some commentators have referred to it as pantheism, but this is technically inaccurate. The Na’vi believe that Eywa, the divine “All Mother,” is connected to and in some sense “in” all things, but the “things” of the planet are not identical to Eywa and the All Mother is not the only reality. AVATAR’s religion may be more properly understood then as a form of panentheism and animism, the belief that deity resides within the world, including its animals and plants, but not that deity is the only reality.

An Internet search of “AVATAR and religion” yields a variety of perspectives, including many from those unhappy with the film’s religion. In one sense, it not well received due to the current culture wars between conservatives and progressives, but even so it would appear to fit well within the context of twenty-first century “progressive spirituality,” which meets current needs, according to scholars like Gordon Lynch, such as “the need for a credible religion for the modern age; the need for religion which is truly liberating and beneficial for women; the need to reconnect religion with scientific knowledge; and the need for a spirituality that can respond to our impending ecological crisis.” Religious conservatives on the right chaff at AVATAR’s depictions of deity and nature, but they might also pause to consider that it may arise as a response to perceived shortcomings or deficiencies in more traditional forms of Western religiosity.

Thankfully it appears that my skepticism may be unwarranted. Craig Detweiler is the Director of Pepperdine University’s Center for Entertainment, Media, and Culture, author of Into the Dark (Baker Academic, 2008), and editor of the forthcoming Halos and Avatars (Westminster John Knox, 2010) (to which I was privileged to make a contribution in the form of a chapter addressing aspects of technotheology). He was recently invited to be part of a special screening of thirty minutes of the film, and he was very impressed:

Not since the first time I saw Star Wars have I felt so giddy, so transported by sheer visual splendor and delight. Viewers will call friends and family, describing scenes with boundless enthusiasm. Teenagers will be recreating scenes in their backyards. Few will be satisfied seeing it just once. James Cameron and his team have created an eye-popping spectacle that will enthrall filmgoers. Avatar is the real (digital) deal.

Read Craig’s further thoughts on Avatar on his blog Purple State of Mind at this post, and return here for TheoFantastique’s perspective on the film after its premiere on December 18.