As I said I’m pretty excited about this book receiving an adaptation. I am especially curious about how Greta Gerwig will film one of its most spectacular yet problematic aspects: how Aslan creates the world of Narnia with his song.
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All this time the Lion’s song, and his stately prowl, to and fro, backwards and forwards, was going on. What was rather alarming was that at each turn he came a little nearer. Polly was finding the song more and more interesting because she thought she was beginning to see the connection between the music and the things that were happening. When a line of dark firs sprang up on a ridge about a hundred yards away she felt that they were connected with a series of deep, prolonged notes which the Lion had sung a second before. And when he burst into a rapid series of lighter notes she was not surprised to see primroses suddenly appearing in every direction. Thus, with an unspeakable thrill, she felt quite certain that all the things were coming (as she said) “out of the Lion’s head.”
[ . . . ] The Lion paid no attention to them. Its huge red mouth was open, but open in song not in a snarl. It passed by them so close that they could have touched its mane. They were terribly afraid it would turn and look at them, yet in some queer way they wished it would. |
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This description sounds similar to the creation of Arda written by fellow Inkling J. R. R. Tolkien; in his version it is Eru, the supreme deity, who creates the other gods and the Middle-earth itself with music. Lewis published his take in 1955 while Tolkien’s came to light in 1976 when The Silmarillion was released. Since Tolkien worked on his Middle-Earth histories throughout his life I bet he had the original concept which Lewis later cribbed, with Tolkien’s permission I hope. But I’ve yet to find any scholarly analysis of this.
Not a few artists have tried to capture the above scene, and most of them, well, look comical.
This design for a book cover shows a dour-looking Aslan literally vomiting up the Narnian cosmos, showing the difficulties in getting the concept across.
I’m reminded of a Medieval letter a Church elder had sent to an artist who was illustrating a Bible passage, likely inter-monastery correspondence referring to the production of an illuminated manuscript. The passage referred to a panther who attracted other animals because of this sweet breath. (Yes, this makes no sense.) The elder monk complained that the artist made it look like the animal was breathing fire, not emitting heavenly mouth odors. This anecdote has stuck in my mind because it might have been the genesis for why dragons breathe fire in European myth — as foul breath may look like smoke and flames also — but also the difficulties of depicting breath in general. Breath is invisible; we can’t see it. Yet the artist needs to show the effect it has.
The same is true of Aslan’s song of creation. We can’t see it, only hear it. Yet we must see the effects: grass and trees appear, the soil bubbles up with animals.
In this illustration by Troy Webster the song is shown as musical notations floating out from Aslan’s mouth. It’s a time-honored cartoon tradition for depicting a song. Yet it looks undignified for Aslan, who is, allegorically, God.
This artist tries the same thing, and was more successful in capturing the feeling of joy and creation. Yet it just looks… wrong.
A pencil sketch depicting the song, which looks more like breath here, with trees, animals, and birds swirling within it. But that is the problem. The lion might have halitosis for all we know. What a problem for the artist (and potential filmmaker too!)
I’ll share another anecdote. When the Jim Henson puppet spectacular The Dark Crystal came out in theaters — I’m really showing my age here — there was a scene where the Urru, the good peaceful, kangaroo-like beings of the world who were opposed to the evil, ugly, Skeksis, who resemble decaying vultures — start to sing. One Urru sings a single sustained note, then more join in one by one, creating a powerful choral harmonic. The scene was meant to be otherworldly, awe-inspiring, cementing the Urru as powerful beings of a noble nature. Well, do you know what happened when the third or fourth voice joined in? The audience friggin’ laughed. It looked that silly onscreen.
I can only hope the filmmakers of the current project think over, very carefully, how they want a singing lion to come across.
This above pic, perhaps intended for a children’s book, is more successful. What Aslan is doing is still unclear, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s yawning or barfing. Perhaps the simplicity of the illustration grants it more of a suspension of disbelief.
And to tell you the truth, a picture of a lion with its mouth open does look mighty silly. Divorced from nature as we are, a lion’s open mouth prompts comparison to humorous cat memes or even human faces engaged in some grimace or embarrassing reaction. Thousands of years ago, sight of a lion’s roar or open jaws might mean a fight for survival. Now we merely giggle.
Perhaps this is the best solution. Not open as if to roar, but to puff out a bit of breath.
