Thursday, October 27, 2011

The Decameron (Day Two / 2.5, 2.6, 2.7, 2.9, 3.1)

1. Story 2.5: Analyze the educative process that occurs with Andreuccio (do NOT simply recount the events of the story). Do you see any repetition occurring here? How do you read this repetition? How does this contribute to his education? What does he learn here? What might the message be for a wider audience? Use specific examples from the text to support your analysis.

Andreuccio, who had never before left his hometown, goes to Naples upon hearing that they have good cheap horses for sale there. He intends to make a steal and brings with him a large sum of money. Being naïve, he shows the entire market place his purse of 500 gold florins and, given that Naples is not a nice, pure city, sets himself up for his education in the ways of the world. The way Andreuccio learns is through a series of falls (literal falls with symbolic overtones): first, into a pile of excrement; then, into a well; finally, into a tomb. The first comes when he falls for the woman’s, who he believes is his sister, trick – he falls through a bad board in the foundation into the feces below him. Symbolically speaking, he falls from a poor foundation (his naïveté could not support him in the real world) into disgrace. Next, the men who find him wash him in the well – this is his renewal, his second chance. The last fall is into a tomb – he ‘helps’ the men rob the grave of a dead man. This time, he realizes right away that they’ve set out to fool him and when he finally gets back out of the tomb, he is reborn, wiser than he ever was, and possesses a ring worth the 500 florins his previous ignorance had cost him.

2. Story 2.6: What does this story have to say about humanity (especially considering that the central character becomes a kind of ‘wild-woman’)? How might this view of humanity influence the story of a whole? Use specific examples from the text to support your analysis.

Madam Beritola becomes a kind of ‘wild-woman’ after her grief over losing her sons consumes her. She ends up going back to nature and gaining the companionship of a deer and her baby roebucks. Becoming friendly with the forest creatures is not the event that really sealed her supposed loss of ‘humanity;’ the scene that does is the one in which she nurses the two hungry roebucks as her own children. What we see here is that ‘humanity’ is based on civilization. We see that same idea in Yvain – when Yvain tears his clothes and goes off into the woods, he is no longer considered a man but a beast; only when he is once again clothed and in the society of his fellow man is he considered back to humanity. Madam Beritola never ceases to be ‘humane’ but that is not the view of humanity here; by going back to nature, she gives up society and thus loses her ‘humanity.’ Like Yvain, once she is clothed and back in the society of people, she is considered human again.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Decameron (Day One / 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, 1.4, 2.3)

Playing catch up, for the win~

Day 1.1 tells the story of the wicked Ser Cepparello who tricks a friar into absolving him of his sins by a false confession. Truly, the entire story is quotable just because of all the irony in the exchanges; however, to keep from getting carpal tunnel, I’ll stick to one said by the friar in response to Ciappelletto’s admittance of having once accidentally spitting in the house of God. The so-called holy man laughs at him and says, “My son, that is nothing to worry about; we priests, who are religious men, spit there all day long” (35). This shows us a bit of Boccaccio’s view on religious folk which becomes more and more pronounced as the Decameron continues: religious men are just like other men and not to be put on a pedestal. If they were truly saint-like, that holy friar wouldn’t have been so amazed and willing to grant Ciappelletto sainthood; instead, he would’ve just appreciated him as a man like himself. This story also shows us that holy men are easily fooled by wicked men (or perhaps they can just be considered fools.) Here we get the first instance (of many) in which Boccaccio shows his disdain for – not the religion itself but for – the religion’s clergy.

Day 1.2 speaks of the Jew Abraham who converts to Catholicism in spite of (or more likely, because of) the corruption of the ‘holy’ men in Rome. He says to his friend upon returning from Rome, “…I have observed that in spite of this [their corruption], they do not succeed but, on the contrary, that your religion continuously grows and becomes brighter and more illustrious” (42). At first glance, his speech at the end seems a bit ironic – why after seeing that terrible scene could he believe that there was anything good about Christianity? What sort of salvation could possibly come from such corruption? But that is exactly the point. By the first story, Boccaccio already shows disdain for the so-called holy men; however, he did not show it towards the religion itself. And that is because he feels there is nothing wrong with the religion – it is fundamentally good and therefore continues to flourish despite the fact that its followers are not necessarily fundamentally good. If something can continue to become brighter despite the dark seeds of corruption which are prevalent, then obviously it serves an important purpose.

Day 1.4 was the most amusing of this first set of stories: an monk gets out of trouble for indulging in the sins of the flesh by catching the Abbot who’d accused him in the same act. At the end, the monk shows how he’s outsmarted the Abbot by remarking: “And up until a moment ago, you never showed me how monks were supposed to support the weight of women as well as fasts and vigils.…I promise that if you forgive me this time, I shall sin no more in this respect….I shall always behave as I have seen you behave” (49). Once again, Boccaccio is showing that holy men are more deeply connected to the ‘man’ aspect than the ‘holy’ one. Putting on monk’s garb doesn’t automatically bring about the end of desire; monks and abbots are still men like other men and are just as susceptible to lust and the pleasure of the flesh.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Talk to Her

Almodovar’s film has a lot of interesting themes/symbolism in it. While the most notable is the Sleeping Beauty overtone, the first I noticed was with Lydia, the bullfighter who’s deathly afraid of snakes. A few Film Study courses and a year of Psychology were more than enough to cement the Freudian correlation into the forefront of my mind. Snakes are one of many phallic symbols in literature and film. Phallic, of course, refers to men and therefore Lydia’s deathly fear of snakes is meant to reflect her fear of men and the violence they can perpetrate. On the talk show we sense that something especially negative happened between her and the other bullfighter which is why she reacts so violently when the topic is brought up; when she, Marco and others talk about the priests and missionaries who have raped the villagers and the nuns, she is sickened. An interesting thing to note though is that snakes are not the only time she comes face to face with her fear of what is masculine. One could easily argue that a bull is very much associated with men. In that case, when she goes into the ring, she is confronting her fear head-on. She is haughty when she bullfights. People often commented that it was lucky the bull never tore her apart; in fact, the man sitting beside her ex comments during one fight: ‘if you weren’t here, she wouldn’t be taking as many risks.’ Therefore, it is obvious that the bullfighting is meant to make a statement towards men.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Run Lola Run

In “Run Lola Run,” there is an interesting flip-flop of gender roles. In fact, we see this same reversal in Erec and Enide. Stereotypically the man is the hero, the one who saves the damsel in distress; however, what is the first scene of the movie? Manni’s in a phone booth freaking out and in hysterics blaming Lola for not showing up and then begging her to save him from his own mess. In the first two sequences it Lola not Manni who finds the way out. While the success in the third sequence is the result of both of their efforts, the protagonist/hero is still obviously Lola. Therefore, Manni proves to be the Princess Peach trapped in Bowser Castle. In Erec and Enide, the reversal is a bit more subtle: Erec is portrayed as this big hero, is the guy who wins every battle and, yet, was it not for Enide, his battles wouldn’t have ever evolved to involve true honor. Another interesting thing about the film is the use of sound – specifically the scream. Another stereotype is that of the trophy wife/girlfriend, the one who’s supposed to ‘Shut up and look pretty.’ In Cretien’s Erec and Enide and Yvain, we see that stereotype subtly refuted by the verbose Enide (who becomes a much deeper character as soon as she’s allowed to speak) and the crafty Lunette (who uses language to get her way). In “Run Lola Run,” her scream is a way to assert herself – a ‘no, I will not shut up and look pretty. You shut up and listen,’ if you will.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Yvain (pp. 353-380)

When Yvain fights the two demons, I don’t understand how that battle is considered a victory in his favor. It was very unsettling actually… The victory didn’t seem all that legitimate. Yes, the fight was unfair to begin with (two devils against one man) but it was designed to be that way – two against one. (In Erec and Enide, Erec fights a whole slew of battles by himself and doesn’t need to call in help; he submits to the rules of battle no matter how ridiculous the set-up is.) I’m not saying that Yvain called in the Lion to help him, per se, but it still helped him. At the start of the battle, the demons inform Yvain that he must put the Lion away where it cannot help him or harm them, that he must take them on alone, that “if the lion were to… attack us, then you wouldn’t be alone: it would be two against two” (364) and would be against the rules of battle. Therefore, Yvain would have to concede defeat if the Lion assisted him. He puts the Lion away and commences fighting but is not strong enough to defeat them. (In fact, he’ll be bettered quickly if the fight continues.) It was luck that the Lion dug its way out of its holding cell and saved Yvain. The Lion kills a demon and gives Yvain a chance to kill the other. This is an impressive turnaround, yes, but it violates the rules of battle, does it not? Therefore, though his enemies were defeated, should this truly be considered his victory?

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Yvain (pp. 324-353)

When Yvain leaves on his journey the text says that he “left his lady so reluctantly that his heart stayed behind” (328) and miraculously remained an alive body without a heart. This feat was only possible while his lady, who had been keeping his heart safe, loved him and kept his heart well. When the messenger says that Laudine no longer loves Yvain his reaction is one of shock; however, that shock could also be interpreted as death (he has no way to retrieve his heart and, therefore, can no longer move or speak; the messenger removes the ring from his finger as a grave-robber would the ring of a corpse). After the messenger leaves, Yvain sneaks off to let his maddening grief consume him. In that scene, we see that the previous ‘death’ was no so much a full death but a death of his reason and humanity. With his heart destroyed, he does not give up breath but instead gives into the animal in him. He had wanted to distance himself as far away as possible from the thing that hurt and ‘killed’ him, the thing that he hates most, himself. Insanity brings him that peace. However, we see that insanity doesn’t destroy all the good in him. When the hermit leaves out bread and water, Yvain doesn’t just take it and leave or continue taking it for nothing in return – instead he brings the man game to show his gratitude. Yvain can’t have been all that bad a guy if even in madness he retains some of his virtue. In fact, this is proof that he’s not as evil as the messenger had said and not as deserving of hatred as he believes he is.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Yvain (pp. 295-324)

And here goes a random tangent…

In the context of the narrative, Calogrenant’s story is one of disgrace – he must tell the court his shame, how he failed a challenge pitifully. Of course, this is Chrétien so the story is not simply one of a knight admitting defeat. On one hand, he is setting up a challenge. He’s saying ‘I wasn’t worthy to fight this knight; are you?’ Yvain takes the bait and so does his sharp-tongued, slander-spewing rival Kay. So does the entire court in fact. When one man fails, another swoops down to avenge him; that ‘avenging,’ however, is more an opportunity to up his own renown than anything else). It’s a chance for Yvain to contest against Kay, to beat him honorably. On the other hand, look back at the informal prologue. Chrétien laments that love has lost its power, that it’s been reduced to nothingness. And what does Yvain ultimately do in this first third of the story? He breaks Laudine’s heart by killing her husband, falls in love with her himself, and then manages to stop her grieving by loving and marrying her. Not only is strength or valor triumphing in the tale but love – love wasn’t dead then and it doesn’t have to be now. Therefore, Calogrenant’s story also sets the stage for that: it sets the stage for the fight to preserve the strength of love.