And Very Gladly Will I Drink Your Honour's Noble Health

I saw Alice in Wonderland this past weekend.

I generally avoid movies in Japan because they tend to be expensive and a bit of a hassle. The standard price is close to twenty dollars per ticket unless you want to see a showing after 8 PM. Which I don't particularly mind, and at times prefer, but the drawback is that there usually only one or two movies playing after 8. So if you don't catch it by 9, you won't be seeing a movie that night.

The land of midnight movies it is not.

And if you do manage to get a showing after 8, though the tickets are cheaper, you have to pick your seat as you buy your ticket. Because of this practice of assigned seats, they don't let people into the movie until 10 minutes before.

But where, you say, is the problem in that? Well, if you want a decent seat not in the very back or the very front, you have to come quite a bit early to reserve said seat. But since you can't go into the theater, that leaves you way too much time with nowhere to sit. Hence the problem.

And watching movies in English with Japanese subtitles is a very odd experience. It's true that things are lost in translation, and humor is probably one of the biggest causalities.

I went to see Sherlock Holmes a few months ago. Not the best of films, but enjoyable and funny in a pulpy sort of way. Yet it was unnerving at times to watch in a theater full of non-English speakers, for there were parts that had my friends and I laughing like maniacs as the rest of the theater remained silent. As in, did not even crack a smile.

It's weird to be the only one in the room who understands the humor. It makes you question if maybe your the one who misunderstood.

I remember going to the theater in Italy a few years ago and laughing at the inefficiencies of the the Italian theater. The Japanese system is nothing if not efficient. As well as annoying. And overpriced. And unnecessarily complicated.

So needless to say, with this lovely combination of factors, I reserve movie viewing for movies I deem worthy of both my time and effort. I believe I have seen exactly 4 movies since I arrived in Japan a year and three months ago. A pitiful number, to be honest.

But despite all this working against her, Alice made the cut. And how could it not? Despite a few poor films in the last few years (Planet of the Apes and Sweeny Todd, I'm looking at you), a still inextinguishable love for Tim Burton will take me out to see his films every time. He's like the weird kid who sat in the back of the class and wouldn't talk to anyone but drew cool cartoons on his desk and in every corner of his notebook that were dark and twisted but in a whimsical way. How can you not like that kid?

That, and my utter love for the source material, got me there. I've already dedicated a post to Lewis Carroll, and I have an unhealthy fascination with his nonsense poetry. Nonsense verse is beautiful, as we all know semantics is highly overrated. And the poems littered throughout the narrative are what make it truly special.

So did I fall in love with it? No, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought it was visually stunning, and true to the nature and tone of the the story. There were cute homages to the original work, things only someone as geeky as me might have picked up, which I appreciated. I would have liked a more gripping plot, but at the same time something about that seems dishonest to the nonsense and tepid philosophy which the original is all about.

And if you want to put Alice in armor and have her fight the Jabberwocky? Believe me, you will get no complaints from me.

If nothing else, it renewed my interest in how much the story has become such a part of our cultural identity. Few are not familiar with the characters, and many phrases, words, and even theories are drawn from the story. Not bad for a children's book.

For example, sticking solely to cinematic adaptions, Alice in Wonderland has been adapted directly to film 44 times, while about 50 other titles either refashion or draw inspiration from the tale. They span the entire history of film, with the first one being a silent film from 1903 directed by Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow. It is 8 minutes and 19 seconds in length, and only one copy of the original still exists.

Alice in film has been around almost as long as film has.

I'm not so much a purist that I dislike anything that deviates, but there are times I want to see Carroll done truly right. So to fulfill that need, I didn't need to look any further than this clip from a 1998 BBC production. It was a weird and trippy version that I didn't completely love, but one of the highlights of the film is a weird sequence in which the poem Haddock's Eyes is related by the White Knight to Alice.

If not just a how-to guide from Ian Holm on how to do a dramatic reading correctly, it is presented with the melancholy dreaminess and touch of deeper meaning with which I think every Lewis Carroll poem should be enjoyed.

If Seven Maids with Seven Mops Swept It for Half a Year

Front to Back
(or Lewis Carroll is my Homeboy)
by Kate Trafecante

’Twas told twice, and to no avail, again,
“Glitters is not Gold” and “Kettles are Black,”
The wisdom of old and aged men,
But I live not Front to Back. I choose to wander life Inverse
And follow not the common path;
So that same wisdom, in Reverse,
And, in my mind, holds true to that
The Storm Comes Always Afore the Calm,
Nine Stitches in Time Saves Only One,
Good Ends Must Come to Things,
And One of These Days is Never None.

For I am a Reverse Commuter,
I walk not Front to Back.
I travel away while you come near,
Taking pride in the sense I lack.
Most wander through the railways,
On steel girders to metropolis they ride;
Yet a beamish smile I flash as I fly past
On towards the eager countryside.
Mountains are my serious skyscrapers,
Empty fields the crowded streets I roam,
And while the busy bees swarm in groups
I work out in the honey combs alone.

But “Lo!” You say, “There are those that
Live their life, also, not Front to Back!
They spend their existence all by night
And work from first darkness till first light!”
So I take my mantra one yard further
And not just wander backwards and daft;
Though I live in true Reverse,
I also live by one true half!
So if night watchmen live in opposite time,
And most people live by day,
I live by halves and halves:
Half night, and then half day.
Where as your day begins at 8, and the watchman 8 at night,
Mine begins at half past three until half past night.

So when you see me walking backwards
(For I never go Front to Back)
And greeting you good morning
When half the afternoon is past,
Or speaking of Words that Hurt,
And Immunity of Sticks and Stones
Do not raise your eyebrows,
And ignore my jovial tones!
For I just live in Reverse, by half,
And if my arithmetic stands true,
Means that no matter our dispositions,
Is twice around half the life of you.


And now, the explanation:

I realized today that I am a reverse commuter, and quite possibly, absolutely insane.

Now reverse commuter is not a real term by ay means, because I just made it up. But nonetheless, I believe it sums up my life perfectly. Most people live in suburbs and commute to cities because, logically and financially, such a path makes sense. Yet I, on the other hand, do the extremely illogical thing of living in the city and commuting out to the sticks.

But though lacking all recognizable sense, it does allow me to see the mountains and rice fields I have been missing while in the city proper. So traveling back on the train today, the city lights in front of me, I pondered my ridiculous schedule. Which then led me to realize that my day is also spent in awkward halves. I start my day mid afternoon and end about 9:30 at night, cleaving my day into thirds, or quarters, or some other odd division that, no matter what it really is, gives me a weird schedule. And as I sat on the train, scribbling down about my life in reverse, lived by half, it sounded more and more like a Lewis Carroll poem.

So as the commute dragged on, I actually started to write such a poem. Because really, it was such a boring commute, and nonsense poetry is amazing and hilarious. So a few proverbs, allusions to Carroll, and wordplay later, by the time I pulled into Nagoya station, I had the rough work you see above.

I also realized I must be certifiably insane.

So as weird as it was to start with my feeble scribblings, and to not have you think I was crazy as I think I am, I actually tried to put the explanation before the poem. But put in the order, I felt the words lacked the original punch and nonsensical flow I was going for when explained ahead of time. And I had so much fun writing such a stupid thing that I actually took a step back from the situation a few times just to laugh at what was coming out of my pen.

And thought I am no Charles Dodgson, this was my lame, if enjoyable, attempt at a Carroll-esque poem to describe my crazy schedule these days.

I blame the canned coffee.