Belle Vista Publication Services bvgraph@gmail.com       570-988-1219        356 Arch Street, Sunbury, PA 17801
		Page 3: Mythic Elements in Film	PAGE	<	>

Now Voyager: A Modern Persephone Story This classic Bette Davis vehicle has been called “a superior soap opera,” but it may also be viewed as an inspiring heroine’s journey. Frustrated spinster Charlotte Vale was once a vital young woman, but her mother (a dark and neurotic version of doting Demeter) has systematically demolished her self-esteem. Abducted by her own unbearable pain and rage, Charlotte is lost in the underworld. A guide appears in the person of Dr. Jackwith, a sympathetic psychiatrist. At Cascades, Jackwith’s posh sanitarium, Charlotte begins to emerge from her shell. When the doctor pronounces her ready to leave the nest, he offers her a quotation from Walt Whitman: “Now voyager, go thou forth to seek and find.” Charlotte undergoes a miraculous makeover, going from frumpy to chic. She embarks on a South American cruise and meets a charming married man, Jeremiah Duvaux Durrance. When Jerry shows her pictures of his family, Charlotte recognizes the awkward, bespectacled younger child, Christina, as a soul sister. The film’s famous cigarette-smoking scenes grow smokier and more erotic every time Charlotte and Jerry light up. On a moonlit night in Rio, the smoke finally turns to fire. But of course, Charlotte is going to get burned; Jerry chooses to stay with his neurotic, domineering wife. A newly confident Charlotte returns home and resists her mother’s efforts to re-assert her dominance. Eventually, Mama resorts to the doomsday weapon: she dies of a heart attack in the middle of an argument. Devastated by guilt, Charlotte rushes back to Cascades. But her scheduled nervous breakdown is derailed when she meets a fellow patient – Jerry’s daughter Christina. She draws on her own experience as a tormented Persephone to lead Tina out of the underworld, and eventually becomes the child’s foster mother. She has found her mission in life: to help troubled children. She accepts a position on the board of Cascades, and devotes herself to a life of friendship and service. Charlotte tells Jerry that their relationship must remain platonic, for Tina’s sake. He mutters guiltily that she should find “some man who will make you happy.” She scoffs at this sentiment. Her life is full; she no longer has a desperate need for romance. In the final scene, Charlotte is wearing a long flowered skirt. She looks like Persephone in spring. When her erstwhile lover asks her, “Will you be happy?” her response is a memorable movie line: “Oh Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.” Metropolis as Myth The silent film genre is a wonderful vehicle for myth, with its larger-than-life, exaggerated acting and dream-like rhythms. Because there are no spoken words, the viewer is free to absorb the images without interference from the brain’s verbal center. The genius of film director Fritz Lang evokes the climate of Germany between the wars in a way that is darkly mythic. Lang’s surrealistic classic Metropolis is a parable of good and evil, as personified by an archetypal goddess with two radically different faces. Lang’s vision of an earthly underworld becomes a metaphor for a buried unconscious which, if we ignore it and fail to honor it, inevitably explodes into destructiveness and chaos. Did he sense the terrible forces brewing in the pre-war German psyche? The classic image of Death swinging his scythe is one (among so many) which stays with the viewer long after the film ends. The plot hinges on the actions of two powerful female figures who are literally mirror images of each other. “Hel” is the name of the German goddess of the underworld (corresponding to the Greek Persephone). Both the Master of Metropolis and his Master Wizard literally fall in love with Death, and become obsessed with the struggle to own and control her. The original Hel was the mother of Freder, the longed-for mediator between masters and workers. Thus a goddess of death doubles as a Madonna figure, taking on the role of mothering a male savior. Maria, who preaches against an abstract background of tilted crosses, is obviously meant to represent the Virgin Mary. Why does her mind, injected into the robot’s body, become transformed into its own opposite? What impulses has she been suppressing? Perhaps she needs to unleash her violent and sexy “Hel” side to complete her mission of saving the workers. Lang may have meant us to neatly distinguish good from evil, or Christianity from paganism. But it isn’t that simple. The “good” and “bad” Maria are both compelling characters, and each has a crucial role to play in resolving the drama. In 1984, Giorgio Moroder re-issued Metropolis with colorizing and a rock ’n’ roll score. Lang’s vision lost nothing in the translation. The fierce energy of rock music is a perfect match for the film’s intense imagery. As long as imperfect human beings continue to struggle with the riddle of good and evil, the message of Metropolis is relevant, not only for 1930’s Germany, but for every time and place.

Personifications of abstract concepts, such as Justice or Death, should be capitalized. The word "God," when referring to a monotheistic deity, is capitalized. Demeter, Persephone and other goddesses also have their names capitalized.  However, lowercase letters are used when referring to a god or goddess in general terms. According to Wikipedia, "underworld" is not a specific place; it is a general term for the concept of an afterlife. On the other hand, "Hades," "Heaven" and "Valhalla" are specific places and thus are capitalized.