What 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader' Should Have Been But Wasn't

(More like this!)

Like all right-minded folks, I was very disappointed by the travesty that was the new Voyage of the Dawn Treader movie. As with The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe, the trailer looked promising (the visuals matched or at least approximated the books), but the execution, or perhaps I should say the spirit of the film, was all wrong.

It's not just changing the plot (although really, if you are going to change the plot you have GOT to do better than green mist and a 7 swords MacGuffin!) but the fact that the film doesn't feel like Lewis. Why, oh why do movie writers insist on throwing out the perfectly jolly dialogue of the books and substituting their own trashy dialogue? For example, just compare the dialogue from the movie and the book on the romance between Caspian and Ramandu's daughter.

Movie

Caspian: You are most beautiful.

Ramandu's daughter: If it is a distraction for you I can change form.

Caspian and Edmund: No!!

Lucy: [rolls eyes]

Book

"In the world from which my friends come" (here he [Caspian] nodded at Eustace and the Pevensies) "they had a story of a prince or a king coming to a castle where all the people lay in an enchanted sleep. In this story he could not dissolve the enchantment until he had kissed the princess."

"But here," said the girl, "it is different. Here he cannot kiss the princess til he has dissolved the enchantment."

"Then," said Caspian, "in the name of Aslan, show me how to set about that work at once."

[Later, when leaving]

"Lady," said Caspian, "I hope to speak with you again when I have broken the enchantments." And Ramandu's daughter looked at him and smiled.

The movie dialogue is good for a cheap laugh at best, and sexist at worst. The book dialogue is beautiful and subtle, the stuff of honor and fairie.

I'm not the only one has noticed this cheapening of honor, in a Narnia Web podcast, commentator "Rilian" points out (around 22:30) that the movie totally abandons the emphasis on honor which in the book provides the motivation for their quest to find the missing Narnian lords. As Rilian notes, the view of honor in the Dawn Treader is best articulated by Reepicheep, when they are contemplating withdrawing from the darkness around the Dark Island without exploring it.

"But what manner of use would it be ploughing through all that blackness?" asked Drinian.

"Use?" replied Reepicheep. "Use, Captain? If by use you mean filling our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all. So far as I know we did not set sail to look for things useful but to seek honour and adventures."

In stark contrast to Reepicheep's (and Lewis') valuing of honor over usefulness, the movie makers' plot change elevates pragmatism: the seven swords must be found to break the mysterious power of the green mist which is stealing people away.

The failure of the modern pragmatically oriented filmmakers to grasp what an essentially Medieval view of chivalry is not terribly surprising. After all, chivalry and honor belong in the same category as the list of words that Thomas Howard, in his C.S. Lewis: Man of Letters (which is, by the by, the best book on Lewis I have yet read) reports so bewildered his students. Howard would distribute a list of archaic moral words (majesty, magnanimity, valor, courtesy, grace, chastity, virginity, nobility, splendor, ceremony, taboo, mystery, purity) to his class at the beginning of term with predictable results. "The entire list of words lands in their laps like a heap of dead basalt meteorites lately arrived from some other realm. They don't know what to do with them" (Howard, 1987, p. 20). In the same way the filmmakers' inability to interpret and understand this critical element in the book is entirely predictable.

What is surprising is that the filmmakers similarly abandon (or misunderstand, perhaps) another theme equally central to the book but not so morally freighted, and moreover one which could only have aided their efforts at creating a blockbuster. This theme is the love of the sea and of ships--essentially all things nautical.

This theme is obvious from even a cursory reading of Dawn Treader. Just four pages in Lewis is describing the titular ship "She was obviously running fast before a gay wind, listing over a little on her port side" in a way that suggests both seafaring knowledge and love of the sea. This is confirmed by one of Lewis' asides:

"By the way, if you are going to read this story at all, and if you don't know already, you had better get it straight into your head that the left side of a ship when you are looking ahead is port and the right is starboard."

There is abundant other evidence of Lewis's nautical love: early on the Pevensies are taken on a tour of the ship (which is accompanied in the book by a cross-section map of the ship), and the Dawn Treader is described in loving detail ("she was a beauty of her kind, a "lady" as sailors say, her lines perfect, her colors pure, and every spar and rope lovingly made."). Even our main characters' response to the ship serves as a key to understanding their characters: Lucy is rightly entranced by Caspian's snug cabin with its windows looking out on the sea while the depth of Eustace's folly is shown by his preference for submarines and ocean liners over the little ship's charming lines (at one point he calls it "a rotten little tub"). 

Lewis' description of the Dawn Treader and his use of correct technical vocabulary (starboard, port, aft, prow, spar, rigging, forecastle, galley, poop deck, amidships, tiller) demonstrate is that he is fully alive to the enchantment of sailing. The nautical details are not mere window dressing on the way to adventures and treasure, they are the source of keen pleasure and adventure in themselves. Of course these shipboard pleasures are inseparable from the appeal of the power and beauty of the ocean, which Lewis also depicts ("blue waves flecked with foam, and paler blue sky, both spreading without a break to the horizon", "they were alternately golden with sunlight and dim green with the sea", "a great grey hill of water far higher than the mast rushed to meet them"). A graceful ship moving on the immense, dangerous sea is a beautiful, poetic thing well worth depicting in its own right. That Lewis realizes this can be seen by the Pevensies' joy upon the conclusion of the tour of the ship:

"..the other two were delighted with the Dawn Treader, and when they turned aft to the cabin and saw the whole western sky lit up with an immense crimson sunset, and felt the quiver of the ship, and tasted the salt on their lips, and the thought of unknown lands on the eastern rim of the world , Lucy felt that she was almost too happy to speak."

Any child can tell you of the charm of a sea-faring life, how it joins the beauty of the sea and the promise of adventure in one intoxicating draught, and renders glorious even the most lowly vessel. Yet the Voyage of the Dawn Treader film makers seem to be entirely innocent of such pleasures. Despite (or perhaps because of) their big budget and resources, they clearly don't get it, and their realization of the ship fails as a result. Forget the ocean, they didn't even bother to shoot the movie in a water tank!--the ship was essentially a stage supported by hydraulics to make it pitch and move. The 'ship' is not a true ship--it has no 

The movie prop Dawn Treader

hull, so never touched the water. It was suspended above the water at an Australian oceanfront park and in front of green screens for the storm and sea monster scenes. As a result, it doesn't feel real, and the ocean doesn't look particularly beautiful. The Dawn Treader as it appears on screen is gaudy, weighed down with impractical ornamentation that undermines the simple beauty that characterizes real working ships. One of the creators of the set was apparently inspired by carousels, and this comes through--its feels about as real as the pirate ships rides in amusement parks.

Perhaps this criticism of the film seems unfair, or that I'm impossible to please, so let me give some examples which both demonstrate both what I am talking about and that it is possible to produce a literary product with a proper appreciation for the sea.  Without further ado, here are 3 works which get it--which clearly love seafaring and possess the spirit which was so missing in the Dawn Treader movie. 

1. Swallows and Amazons 

The story of a family of four children learning to sail and finding adventure during their summer holiday in the Lake District in England. Both in its book and movie form, Swallows beautifully demonstrates the pleasures of sailing which are accessible even to a child, and the beauty of a boat, even on a very small scale. We witness the children learning the rules of sailing (among them the gem from their father "Better drowned than duffers; if not duffers won't drown."), honing their navigation skills, and developing a fierce pride in their boat, Swallow.  Imaginative Titty's frequent literary references to books in the seafaring tradition (Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island) remind us of the close association between sailing and the best romantic adventures (deserted islands, pirates, maps, hostile natives, treasure, and intrigue!). 

Here is a clip of the 1973 movie that shows some sailing (watch to the end to see the Swallow under full sail). And here's another clip if you can't get enough of this goodness. I'm a big fan of this version of Swallows and Amazons for a variety of reasons. I love that it accurately depicts children's imaginative play and the delights of camping without loudly calling attention to them. I also love the slower pacing of the film, which allows us to actually see what's going on, including some truly beautiful moments, like Titty looking at the shadows of the leaves on her tent when she first wakes up. Add this to the short list of movies that my children will be allowed to watch!  

Most important for our purposes, the movie version does an excellent job capturing the beauty of the water. 'Dawn Treader' could have learned a thing or two from them! 

2. Master and Commander 

The story of a charismatic British sea captain "Lucky Jack" Aubrey, who leads his ship full of fighting men half way around the globe on a chase to capture a wily French privateer. If you thought Swallows and Amazons sounded too tame, this is the movie for you! The potential for maritime adventure is fully realized here, there are sea battles, exotic foreign ports, cunning strategy, and truly scary storms. A fair proportion of the movie's appeal comes from how real of the ship feels--its wood palpably groaning under pressure or damaged by war, decks crowded with men and cluttered with rigging. There is realism in the depiction of shipboard life too: it makes clear how the men are bound by strict hierarchy, obedience is mandatory and punishment for infractions severe, and their time is precisely divided into a series of watches. Yet despite its realism the movie also has a romantic perspective, capturing the glory of the ship in battle and sailing under full sail. 

As an aside, did you notice the blonde boy in the trailer whose arm is broken and who is told he'll take command of the ship during the battle?  That's 13 year old Lord Blakeney, played by Max Perkis, and I think it's worth pointing out that this boy is much closer, both in age and appearance, to how Caspian is described in Prince Caspian. Ben Barnes' swarthy appearance not withstanding, according to Lewis, Caspian has golden, curly hair. So if it were up to me, you'd have cast Perkis (or someone like him) for Prince Caspian and a young man version of the same for Voyage (remember there is supposed to be a 3 year gap in Narnian time). This would clearly be a huge improvement over Barnes' simpering (and don't even get me started on his obnoxious Eurotrash accent!) and make the movie 100% more bearable at a single stroke. But the main thing to notice about Blakeney is that since he's a lord he's given a adult level of responsibility at sea (he is maimed and could easily be killed) and he performs magnificently! So basically the moral of Swallows and Amazon + Master and Commander = young kids at sea for the win! Luckily Lewis is brilliant enough to have figured this out for himself, if only the filmmakers would help him out by not casting actors far older than they ought to be. 

3. The Riddle of the Sands

The story of two British young men frolicking around in the North Sea, who through many daring feats of seamanship uncover a dastardly German plot. This spy novel is the least well known of my three examples, it was written in 1903 and has since fallen into obscurity.  But is well worth rediscovering (you can read it here), if only for the pleasure of getting to know the delightful character of Davies. Davies is a character completely in love with sailing and his boat, the Dulcibella. Davies takes a childlike delight in the cramped living quarters of the tiny vessel: a tiny kitchen in which things have a tendency to roll away and break, cramped bunks, little head space and knee room leading to bruised foreheads and shins, etc. Davies' perspective ("there's plenty of room to sit upright...Some people make a point of head-room, but I never mind much about it.") is contagious, both to the more sophisticated Curruthers, who narrates the adventure, as well as to readers. You can get a taste of Davies' character in the following passage, in which a chagrined Curruthers, who had imagined natty white flannels and uniformed sailors, not gumboots and a two man crew when he agreed to join Davies for "yachting", has just arrived on board the Dulcibella, and delivered Davies a a number of requested of ship-related items, including a new stove. 

'There's your stove, you see,' he [Davies] ended; 'I've chucked the old one overboard.' It was a weakness of his, I should say here, to rejoice in throwing things overboard on the flimsiest pretexts. I afterwards suspected that the new stove had not been 'really necessary' any more than the rigging-screws, but was an excuse for gratifying this curious taste.

But Davies is deadly serious about certain things: the state of the British coastal defenses, accurate coastal charts, and a certain young woman. He's also serious about seamanship and skillful navigation--the book contains descriptions of such ingenious uses of the characteristics of the  Dulcibella, the tides and sands, that you come away convinced that sailing requires as much clever strategy as spying itself. 

Speaking of strategy, there's plenty of that in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader book that is completely dropped in the movie version. For example, take the ruse that Caspian uses to retake the Lone Islands--it is eviscerated in the movie, becoming a contrived and pointless action sequence.

But it doesn't have to be like this. For proof that there is no reason that this scene can't be portrayed in a movie version check out this clip from the old BBC miniseries version of Voyage of the Dawn Treader:

In fact, despite (because of?) being low budget and literal the BBC version is a whole lot better at capturing the love of the sea and adventure. Even more important, this clip shows how the sense of honor present in the books could be simply and easily communicated in film--the restoration of Caspian's dominion over lost territory is an solemn occasion, in which all the players act formally in order to do honor to the majesty of Caspian's kingship and restored empire. This is important to get right in an adaption if you care at all about the integrity of the story (honor and kingship are clearly important to Lewis) but especially if you care about the potential Christian allegory in the story. 

But while I don't expect the filmmakers to get say, Lewis's allusions to mystical voyages, it really doesn't seem that hard to understand the basic appeal of a boat!