Fantasy is a dangerous genre for any storyteller (whether in film or book form). Dangerous because it is so enticing. After all, fantasy allows the mind to be free and obey no rules or principles of reality. Anything goes. To a degree, it defies critique.
And even more-so, with art, fantasy really is the whole point, isn't it? A reader, a person buying a ticket to a show or movie, a spectator at a museum; what more do they seek than an escape? To lose themselves in something artificial – something distracting, created with the sole purpose to distract. People desperately covet distance from the moribund travails of earthbound existences.I never read Philip Pullman's work or the trilogy evocatively titled “His Dark Materials,” of which The Golden Compass is the first installment. Though, as alluded to above, all art is by nature fantasy, I don't typically read books falling under the “Fantasy” genre (Some Stephen King and The Hobbit come to mind as the only exceptions.) I think the reason I don't appreciate fantasy is the same reason authors will forever gravitate toward it – the lawlessness of it all. There is a certain unaccountability in imagining up worlds and characters that I find irksome. Of course our world would be a much grayer place without the likes of Tolkein and Asimov, Rowling and William Goldman, but I note the exceptions. In general, fantasy is dangerous because it invites creative recklessness.
Chris Weitz's film version of Pullman's book is the perfect example. The film is chock full of exotically named things, people and places (like Lyra Belacqua, Serafina Pekkala, and Alethiometer.) In fantasy, I'm sure you would agree, names are half the battle. What would Lord of the Rings be without Samwise Gamgee, or Harry Potter without muggles and Severus Snape. You can almost picture the author gleefully crafting these wickedly clever names. But a name is just a name, and without more, the audience will catch on quickly that beyond all the puffery of consonants and vowels, there lies a gaping void.
The Golden Compass is a picturesque film. The sets are pristine, Nicole Kidman (as the possibly nefarious Ms. Coulter) is radiant, and the ice bear (Iorek Byrnison, of course) is a computerized marvel. But all the pieces combined feel like nothing more than a barrage of exquisitely crafted names. Fantastic names, shouted and grunted, shrieked and whispered, proclaimed and gasped from snowy wastelands to starry skies. The actual story being told lacks cohesion and impact. Perhaps Pullman's trilogy should have been adapted into four or more films.
I will not even speak of the religious controversy surrounding the film as a.) It is nowhere perceptible on screen and b.) I haven't read the book where the anti-church elements apparently resound. The story is about Lyra, who is a child and entrusted with the compass, an item special and mysteriously important, which only she can wield. Through a set of lazily framed circumstances, she lights out on a journey toward the frozen north. As with all such epics, she bands up with an eclectic group of friends/caretakers/stout hearted defenders and battles and challenges abound. The similarities to The Fellowship of the Ring are positively astounding, from the accents, to Christopher Lee as a villain, down to the penetrating voice of Ian Mckellen (who narrates the bear.)Maybe Peter Jackson has the touch and gift to bring fluidity and depth to a series of clich