Lift Up Your Hearts!

We watched Bridge to Terebithia yesterday, and I've been struggling with what to say about it ever since.  As usual, Porter knew exactly what he liked and didn't like, and had no trouble expressing himself on the issues.  Often I can, too; in fact, I did so easily with the other movie we watched this weekend, the Oscar-winning The Apartment.  (In brief, it started off slowly and the story was unpleasant, but Shirley MacLaine's acting was amazing and powerful.)

I should have known Bridge to Terebithia would be harder to critique, because Porter's commentary—during and immediately after—which I usually find informative and interesting, was more annoying than not.  That happens when I have been very much drawn into a movie, and anything that calls me back prematurely is jarring, rather like being jerked out of a deep meditation by the telephone.  Whenever I am thus entranced by a movie, I know rational analysis will be difficult.

Porter didn't like the movie, and I did.  He could be specific, such as his comment that the transitions between real life and the fantasy world did not work for him—unlike his experience with The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  But while I could find things to complain of—I didn't like the music; there were some modern attitudes and stereotypes that annoyed me; there was one event the improbability of which was a distraction, even in a movie where reality and fantasy are intertwined—yet in everything that was important I could say little more than, "I liked the story."  Porter's repeated attempts to get something comprehensible out of that statement only frustrated us both.

So the question kept returning—as I was falling asleep, when I awoke, during church, through much of a lovely afternoon picnic—and I think I finally have an answer.  I deliberately avoided reading other people's reviews, though I think I will enjoy them now.  Bear in mind, also, that I have not yet read the book, but am basing my analysis solely on the film.

Film, books, music, and paintings can inspire me in a variety of ways, but the ones that mean the most to me are those of which the attraction I find hardest to explain, because they reach something within me that is beyond rationality.  They touch my imagination as well as my mind, and the imagination will not be explained, only known; if communicated, it can only be to someone whose imagination has been similarly affected.  I've tried to explain this before by saying that my favorite books and movies are those that make me want to be a better person, though that is only touching the hem of the garment, so to speak.

In thinking this through, I realized that this, precisely, is what I like about the Bridge to Terebithia story.  Despite what I had read in previews, despite what I heard in the DVD's "special features" analysis before we turned it off in disgust, this is not this story of a couple of schoolchildren who create a fantasy world as an escape from their real-life troubles.  In Bridge to Terebithia the fantasy world is far more real than everyday life.  The imagination sees truths hidden from ordinary eyes.

It wasn't till well into my ruminations that I realized that the unreality of the film's "real life" setting and characters was deliberate.  The exaggerations and stereotypes are jarring, like a painting with garish, unreal colors, which effectively highlights the question of where reality lies. 

Imagination without reason is lost, reason without imagination is dead.  Bridge to Terebithia expresses that much better than any words I could ever say about it.