S D Anugyan explains why “if you have a secret, guilty taste in something deemed to be ‘lowbrow’, perhaps you should be less hard on yourself.”
What your wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools
have brought to light.”Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare
I was told that one of Osho’s favourite films was Le Roi de Coeur (King of Hearts) by the renowned director Phillipe de Broca. This intrigued me as it wasn’t a well-known film, even today I rarely come across anyone who knows it.
The story is about a French town in the First World War which is being evacuated by the Germans, who rig a bomb to blow up everything and everyone once the Allies arrive. The townspeople get wind of the plot and flee, leaving only the inhabitants of the mental asylum who escape and take over the town. The British have no idea what has transpired but, suspicious, send a scout ahead who is greeted by a colourful bizarre world that starts to make more sense than that which he has just left.
Released in 1966, it was de Broca’s first commercial and critical failure, derided for being whimsical and stereotypical, among other things.
The film’s redemption came in America where young people, having grown up in the shadow of pointless conflicts, found its anti-war sentiments deeply compelling. It was shown repeatedly all over the country, particularly near universities; and in the Central Square Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts, ran for five years non-stop. Worldwide the struggle for its recognition continued, and it wasn’t until 2018 that Eureka! released it for the first time in the UK. Even now critics struggle to come to terms with its apparent whimsy. If they really pay attention they will see beneath the flamboyance, between an echoing of old silent comedy films and an exquisite rich dialogue, a significance bordering on the mystical:
Charles Plumpick (The King of Hearts): I don’t want to die.
Coquelicot: No one’s ever known his own death.
Charles Plumpick: There are only three minutes left to live.
Coquelicot: Three minutes is great.
Charles Plumpick: You’re right.
Ultimately, it is a question of coming from the heart rather than the mind, something we all probably need reminding of time and time again. Thus, great treasures may be discovered where least expected.
I was heartened by seeing a documentary In Search of Ingmar Bergman, where it transpired that the great director was fond of the TV soap Dallas. Then an account was given when he watched the cringe-worthy movie Pearl Harbor but fast-forwarded through the ‘boring’ love bits and went straight for the action scenes which are, admittedly, superbly directed. Bergman’s openness and lack of snobbery towards art is inspiring. It is not that any sense of discernment goes out the window, but appearances can be deceptive.
A few years ago I saw a TV episode about a family with four daughters. The latter have complex relationships, including the fact that the oldest of eighteen appears to be perfect in the eyes of her younger siblings. She isn’t. She gets jealous, is overly-obsessed with her looks and is hilariously clumsy. She is also very loving, conscientious and enthusiastically throws herself into all aspects of life, which is why she is the lead character.
In this particular story she becomes concerned that her youngest sister’s belief in a magical being is unhealthy.
She consults her scientifically minded parents. The father quotes Einstein, saying that ‘imagination is more important than knowledge’. She responds by panicking, that her cynicism may have had a damaging effect on her sister: ‘What if I accidentally flipped the first domino, and now all her belief in unlimited possibilities starts crashing down?’ With that statement it is made clear that no less than the fate of the universe is at stake, her sister’s universe. The personal has become entwined with the cosmic.
Armed with this new understanding, the older siblings conspire to create the illusion of the magical entity on the roof of their house. Things keep going wrong, of course, and there are many false starts, hoaxes, cross-dressing and confusions on the way worthy of a Shakespeare comedy, culminating fortunately in a glimpse of the magical creature on the roof. The youngest child’s faith in the wonder of the universe is restored. The twist is that the others then discover that the person acting as the creature never made it onto the roof, and they themselves are left with Wonder as they lie under the magnificent night sky listening to mysterious music.
So what was this extraordinary exploration into consciousness and reality?
It was a show aimed at 6-9 year-old girls: Barbie’s Dreamhouse Adventures.
It does always depend on the calibre of the writers involved, but children’s literature and art often reveal our vaster reality better than that for adults. Mary Poppins would be another prime example. It is worth noting that the author P L Travers was actually a Gurdjieffian and more than likely to understand something of extra dimensions.
With the mysterious transference often evident on these levels, even the recent film Mary Poppins Returns has a bathroom scene that is one of the best illustrations of five dimensions I have ever witnessed on the screen. So if your children ask you to join them in watching or reading something aimed completely at kids, then don’t miss out on the opportunity. You might actually learn something.
There is a very popular series on TV made by Hallmark called The Good Witch. At first sight there is everything any self-respecting artist would run away from: the show is saccharine and vanilla, to put it mildly. Yet look at it more carefully, for the creators have put a witch (albeit a comfortable New Age one) at the heart of one of the most conservative and Christian areas in the States, the mid-West. To pull that off requires a remarkably deft touch. In the same way it accommodates five dimensions seamlessly, with past, present and future interweaving with each other; in one case for example, a young couple uncertain about their relationship haunted unknowingly by representations of their future, happy selves.
The show taps into this state of consciousness repeatedly, examining them over several years, using the soap opera format to do so. The premise is that the good witch of the title, Cassie, has a comprehension of people’s needs and insight into their futures and pasts which defy explanation. She basically has one foot in the five-dimensional perspective of timelessness. She also shows a propensity of walking through locked doors, something often reported in hauntings. However, things frequently go wrong, and she gets it wrong. One of the most telling episodes is where a visiting artist keeps painting the future of Cassie and her family, right down to the smallest details, and they – despite the whole family being psychic to varying degrees – can’t work out how he’s doing it.
The most interesting character may be Abigail, Cassie’s younger cousin. She arrives as a destructive force, creating havoc wherever she goes. She is the dark side of Cassie, using her powers for negative reasons, and not caring how much damage she does. Yet nothing is as it seems, for she is a Trickster, shape-changing, amoral and distant. She is not one thing or the other: she is egocentric, she is altruistic, and full of other contradictions. Her mask changes constantly, the ultimate goal being to transform those who come into contact with her: she can be a best friend, an enemy, a shop assistant, a mayor, whatever the situation demands.
One of her best moments is when the town folk are at their wits’ end trying to decide who is going to organise an imminent festival, and she steps in, saying she will do it. For two episodes she appears to be doing nothing – because she is doing nothing. Her inaction creates chaos, and out of that chaos a new order emerges, much like the old order but reborn, revitalised.
Yet Abigail is not merely archetypal, she is very human. Her vulnerability and open-heartedness become clear over time. She may act like the trickster god Coyote, often coming undone with her own games, but she herself has to grow. By doing so, she is integrated into the town and her family, she has a home. The archetypal has been transcended.
That ‘lowbrow’ art is capable of such insights should not be that surprising even for those steeped in culture. Peter Brook in The Empty Space talks of what he calls Rough Theatre – and I see popular TV shows to be a kind of Rough Theatre – often being the saviour of the art form.
So if you have a secret, guilty taste in something deemed to be ‘lowbrow’, then perhaps you should be less hard on yourself. If you enjoy it, all the more power to you; besides, perhaps there are untold riches within. Lead may shine in ways that gold may not:
[T]hou meagre lead,
Which rather threatenest than dost promise aught,
Thy paleness moves me more than eloquence;
And here choose I; joy be the consequence!”The Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare
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