Hamlet, Saudi Arabia, and The Dangerous Book For Boys

The other night, the Pookies watched Kenneth Branagh’s Hamlet and thoroughly enjoyed Shakespeare.
It was interesting to see how much more I enjoyed it ten years after first seeing it. Back when this was in my movie collection as a copy from laserdisc, I was primarily interested in cinematography, editing, and acting, so Branagh’s long and beautiful steadicam shots always give me a thrill (I know, I know. NERDDDDD!). I also was impressed with Branagh’s long takes because Shakespeare is even more impressive when it’s not cut up.

I’d like to think that it’s a gauge of my maturation, though, that when so many of the movies that were my favorites four or more years ago, have seemingly paled in the light of sanctification. A year ago, I revisited some of my favorite titles through our Netflix subscription, because the films (and movie-renting with even monthly regularity) were new to my wife. But I was surprised to see how much clearer I saw the ugliness of immorality or the decadence of character superficiality. If nothing else, my movies just seemed smaller, less significant.

By contrast, quite soon into the first two and a half (out of four) hours of Kenneth Branagh’s easily accessible 1996 version of Hamlet, the poetic Pookies were relishing Shakespeare’s dialogue with big grins. For the record, I do not consider myself a familiar fan of Shakespeare, formally speaking (I just say “Hoisted by my own petards” a lot).
But the enjoyment I derived from his writing is in keeping with the satisfaction I’ve been receiving from (relatively) wholesome and edifying entertainment.


Before Hamlet, we enjoyed “The Ultimate Gift.”
I had dismissed this title out of hand before our friend recommended it, figuring it was more well meaning than well made, but I was surprised in the beginning by it’s use of G.K. Chesterton and Psalm 116:15, and wished in the end that more movies like it were being made.
It does pull at the heartstrings, but competently so, and one of my favorite scenes was one of bad news.

Next in our queue is “As You Like It.” We’re continuing the Branagh-Shakespeare trend.


The Kingdom
Nothing in global affairs holds my attention more than Islam in world culture. It stems from my love for Jesus and an all-nations overflow of that love, contrasted with Muslims’ convictions that outweigh the hope available to them outside of martyrdom.

So I was eager to see The Kingdom as soon as I saw the trailer. It also helped that Peter Berg was directing, a name I’ve come to respect since seeing The Rundown, of all things, and watching him turn a molehill into a mountain, visually speaking.

Perhaps it’s my age (33) or the kind of person I am (serving at church is my hobby, to give you an idea), but I’ve never experienced more thrilling action on screen.

I mention that both as praise for the film (props to the stunt coordinator and editors), and as a revealer of my latent enthusiasm for vengeance. There’s an awesome highway action scene, where the bad guys try to kill the good guys, and the good guys try to stop the bad guys from killing them and from escaping, and the thrill for me, I noticed, escalated from the visceral excitement of a car crash, to seeing one bad guy get shot, and yearning, almost, for the rest of the bad guys to get killed. It triggered in me enough of a reaction to give me pause at the movie’s last bit of dialogue (and social commentary), instead of dismissing it altogether as simplistic and anti-American. (Once I’m done pausing, however, I’ll most likely dismiss it as such.)

Reflecting on the whirlwind that is The Kingdom, I see a contrast of sinful nature and imputed righteousness in that I could have tears in my eyes watching a jihadist detonate himself at the beginning of the film, and an hour later relish in the battle deaths of similar jihadists.




The Dangerous Book For Boys
By God's mercy, I've avoided developing an interest in video games.
After college, I developed a serious DVD habit, but since being married, even this has diminished to the point where I periodically argue for canceling our Netflix subscription.

So, as we prepare to raise our first child, my wife and I have set our sights on a noble non-video upbringing, and The Dangerous Book for Boys is, I hope, something that will prove a valuable resource in shaping both little Isaac's recreational direction and our own parenting mindset. Theology aside, I want to instill in his mind (and body) good and varied, constructive hobbies, not choices merely in game system and CDs.

The Dangerous Book For Boys is a compendium for all interests. Not all of it interested me, but that's a necessity of it's scope, not to mention what makes it so fun to read—if you don't enjoy the 1-3 page segment you're reading, the topics change quickly and dramatically. My favorites were: The 7 Ancient Wonders of the World (of which I was familiar with only 2), The 7 Modern Wonders of the World, Latin Phrases Every Boy Should Know, Five Knots Every Boy Should Know, Sampling Shakespeare, wrapping a package in brown paper string, and extraordinary stories, from which comes this quote by Robert Scott, expeditionist to Antarctica in 1911, "Make the boy interested in natural history if you can. It is better than games. They encourage it in some schools."

I'm hoping I'll be able to give the book to Isaac, and he'll quickly find something that appeals to him, setting him off on a pattern of constructive interests, keeping derivative digital entertainment at a distance. I may have to give this book to the parents of his contemporaries as well, though, to ensure he's not the lone battery-making, latin-studying, treehouse-building boy on the block.

It is extremely rare that I read (and recommend) a non-theological book, but this one wonderfully champions my new cause, wholesome edification for a much-needed revival in maturity. Play marbles, not Halo.