Posted on 01/02/2006 4:25:02 PM PST by NZerFromHK
Have you seen the latest Chronicles Of Sarnia?" asked Gord during a lull at the 24/7 campaign call centre.
"Chronicles Of Sarnia?" I said, bewildered.
"You remember," he said, "the books by that famous intellectual philosopher."
"C. S. Lewis?"
"Avi Lewis, isn't it?" said Gord. "Anyway, they're the magical fairy tales set in that strange, vast, snow-covered land encompassing all that lies between the lamppost with the sign saying 'You Are Now Leaving The United States And Entering The Moral Conscience Of The World' and the great island fortress of Hans Pairodanes on the northern sea. The land where it has been endless winter for decades."
"They signed up for Kyoto, then?" I said. But Gord was lost in reverie.
"Always winter but never Christmas, because that's too non-diverse. So instead the Royal Mint at Cair Paravelle . . . '"
"That would be the big castle?"
"Actually it's Quebec's leading public relations consultancy--Derek Cair was minister for National Unity under Chrétien and Jean-Pierre Paravelle was Minister for Secessionist Posturing under Parizeau. The point is the Royal Mint at Cair Paravelle ran Christmas past the focus groups and they decided to make commercials where everyone sings, 'On the first day of giving/My true love gave to me . . . '"
The full horror of it came flooding back. "Oh, yeah," I said. "I read the first one years ago --The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe, the one where the great God-like figure Ralstan decides to treat his wife, the First Non-White Witch to reign over Sarnia, to a new outfit for her inaugural throne speech."
"No, no," said Gord. "You're getting mixed up. That's The Lion, The Witch And The Bathrobe."
"Gotcha," I said. "And to enter this enchanted snow-bound land you go into this giant closet, right?"
"For cryin' out loud," said Gord. "Don't you remember anything? To enter the enchanted fairyland, you have to come out of the closet. Then you can stand up tall and be who you are, celebrate your distinctive identity by voting for the same eternal ruler as everyone else does. You know the slogan: 'There are 30 million diverse victim groups voting Liberal. Which one are you?' C'mon," he said, and led me to the multiplex.
It's amazing how much you forget. The series has been going on so long that it all kind of blurs together. If I think about it, I can just about work out that Da Magician's Nephew, the one where Prince Chretian makes his nephew ambassador to the wicked land to the south where it's eternal summer because of all the global warming, comes before The Voyage Of The Ditherer, the one where the wily Grand Vizier seizes the throne but almost immediately finds that his powers are waning and that his enchanted land is becoming a disenchanted land and he's threatened with losing the Spell of Confidence unless he can find a few extra Red Dwarfs to switch to his side of the castle and fill the four vacant thrones.
The Red Dwarfs, you'll recall, are the ones they call the "Sons of Joe"--they're nice, moderate, sensible people who can lull you to sleep with their lethal moderation. There was Scott who came out of the closet and went to work at the castle as wicked King Paul's Minister of Public Works. And then there was Queen Belinda who agreed to become King Paul's Minister of Skills Development. Few of us will ever forget that terrifying scene where Belinda is wandering alone in the woods on her way to tea and crumpets with Peter when a huge Bermuda-registered sledge comes roaring through the trees drawn by two minimum-wage Liberians. The proud, cold, stern King Paul leans down, scoops up poor Belinda and offers her Human Resources--a big box of yummy Turkish Delight, which makes Belinda forget all about silly Peter and pledge to do whatever King Paul wants. Then he has his faun take out a curious little flute and play a strange hauntingly seductive melody --available now on Top Twenty Dance Remixes Of The Eighties--and soon Belinda is shaking her booty on the great Stone Table.
The great Stone Table is not, of course, to be confused with the great Stoned Table where Prince André and his cabinet of Pequistes sit around dreaming of ridding their land of the cruel reign of King Paul. "One day," says the ever-hopeful Prince Bernard, "all the snow will be gone." "That's what I'm worried about," says Prince André.
Still, for all the series' interminable plot complexities, it's hard not to marvel at the new film's wonderful opening sequence in which a group of naive boys and girls--Stephen, Diane, Monte and Stockwell--first stumble into Sarnia, after pushing their way through rows of fur. ("Seals," explained Gord. "They had to store them somewhere after they ended the cull.") The unsuspecting youngsters had been evacuated at an early age far from the corridors of power and deep into the remote countryside (Alberta) and have no idea what an inhospitable wintry land Sarnia will prove to be. The first character Stephen meets in the new land is a curious fellow called Mr. Tumnus--half-man, half-lemming--limping home through the snow after being told that the MRI machine at the Cair Paravel Hospital has frozen up again.
"Forgive me," says Mr. Tumnus, taking young Stephen's arm, "but are you what they call a . . . a . . . "--and he lowers his voice lest the trees overhear-- " . . . a Son of Preston?"
"Well, er," says Stephen, cautiously.
"Oh, upon my word, delighted, delighted. You must come and take tea and lemming tart with me." And in his dry clean cave, the half-man half-lemming asks Stephen if he's come to rid Sarnia of the cruel and scheming King Paul.
"Absolutely," says the young lad. "That's what we're here for." And he spots a handsome brass pollometer on the mantelpiece showing the latest numbers from Ontario: "King Paul 30.5%, Sons of Preston 28.5%."
But, alas, Mr. Tumnus has seen the poll, too. "Oh dear, oh dear," twitters the nervous little fellow. "I'm not sure. Maybe I should ask a fawner."
"Hang on," says Stephen. "Don't you mean 'faun'?" But, even as he speaks, two fawners are entering the little cave--one from the CBC, one from the Toronto Star. The fawner from the Star holds up a front page showing seven-year-old Stephen in shorts, sensible shoes and a sleeveless jumper eating toast and marmalade. "Is He Too Scary?" reads the headline, over a big quote from King Paul: "When I look into the face of Stephen, I don't see the face of Sarnia. I see a sinister allegory in which a right-wing Christian fundamentalist is trying to pass himself off as a giant cuddly pussy cat."
"On tonight's National," drones the CBC fawner, "has Stephen got a hidden agenda?"
"Oh golly, now I think about it," says Mr. Tumnus, "you do seem scary." And Stephen notices the brass pollometer now reads "King Paul 41%, Sons of Preston 18%."
"Winter's really jolly nice here all year round," mutters the terrified fellow, "and the fawners say you're going to introduce beastly American private hospitals."
"But I can't make it any clearer," protests Stephen. And Stockwell holds up a card: "No Two-Tier Health Cair Paravel." "What more can we do?"
And the wise old fawners from the CBC and the Toronto Star chant in unison: "You need to move toward the political centaur." But the more Stephen tries to move toward him, the more the centaur whinnies and moves toward King Paul.
Fortunately, at that moment Father Christmas arrives upon his sleigh bearing gifts for the plucky young Sons of Preston and Daughters of Deb. To brave young Stephen, he hands a shield ramped with a red lion and a sword the colour of silver with a hilt of bright gold. To Monte he gives a bow and a quiverful of arrows, and to Diane a dagger. But no sooner does his sleigh depart then Maugrim, the grey wolf who serves as Chief of the Wicked King's Royal Mountable Secret Police, kicks down the door and growls, "Don't make a move!"
"A talking wolf!" gasps Stephen.
"Is it Bill Clinton?" yells Queen Belinda, still dancing on the Stone Table.
Maugrim confiscates Stephen's gift on the grounds that it's not been registered with the four-billion-dollar Sword Registry and arrests Monte on suspicion of being involved with the archery gang warfare in Metropolitan Toronto. "Daggers are okay, aren't they?" asks Diane, but King Paul stuns the fawners by committing himself to a zero-tolerance dagger-control policy.
"Oh, well," I said, as the credits rolled and they showed a trailer for the next in the series--Ken Dryad dropping to his knees to welcome King Michael back from 20 years in the BBC wardrobe department to ascend to the Silver Chair of Etobicoke-Lakeshore. "Always the same. Yet another unhappy ending. Don't know why they bother with the expensive special effect where the wicked King turns them into stone. Half these Sarnians seem to be petrified already."
"You get your hopes up every time," agreed Gord. "Like that one about the sponsorship scandal, the subsidized Cair Paravel flags that don't work, and Prince Gagliano."
"The Lyin', The Glitch And The Ward-Boss," I said. "Most promising so far."
"Winter's not going to be ending any time soon," said Gord, and off we trudged to the car.
This has several ramifications for us. Australia, take your sister dominion as a negative example, America, know thy enemy, and everyone living from Victoria to Winnipeg, time to organize independence movements.
I'm sure it makes more sense to Canadians, but it's still funny with half the jokes unintelligible!
A like the part where he indicates that global warming caused it to be always winter but never Christmas the way a good leftist would.
Clearly an arms smuggler from the U.S. Book 'em.
That was good!
Makes you wish you really knew all the players he's alluding
to. Steyn what a writer.
BTW, did you notice that I was posting that at the exact time that you were posting to me on a different thread? Spooky.
Maybe it's just a slow evening!
Enjoy!
D
I'm a long-time Steyn fan, but there's always something I've missed. Some of the Canadian and European topics go right over my head, too.
One for the Steyn ping list: Another Steyn classic!
D
Thanks for the link - hysterical!
Nice! Can I get on the early Steyn distro?
Concerning the column I recommend you read, I actually went to the bookstore, read enough of Living History to realize that it was just as Mark said, and then turned to page 523 for the refund policy.
I was quite disappointed that he just made that part up :-).
In my opinion, Hillary Clinton is just plain too wooden, stiff and boring to become President. The only chance she has is if Bill campaigns for her. Sorry, Hillary, just the truth.
D
I hope you're right about that! Certainly nobody seems to like her.
I think people bought her book (and Bill's) thinking they were actually going to dish all the dirt. Not a chance!
I wish some of us could have that sense of humor and feel such a droll affection for a member of the enemy. Granted, lefties are even worse than we are.
There is a segment of the population that likes her and feels that she has a shot at being the first women President. That's a large enough number of people to create a best-selling book. Problem for Hillary is that I think it's about 20% of the population. The remaining 80% can't stand her.
Of that 80%, 30% (Democrats) think she's a right-winger and 50% (Republicans) think she's a left winger. I don't think she has any solid beliefs other than a desire to be elected, and a feeling that use of government largesse is the best way to do it.
I think that in the end, the mushy middle that actually decides elections is going to decide based on her scratchy and abrasive public speaking mode. I heard her in the Democratic conventions last year, and thought she was truly a horrid public speaker.
The 20% who made Hillary's book a bestseller wanted to learn more about her as a person. That seems like a pretty tall order from what I can see. I think most people realized there wouldn't be too much dirt in there. It was, after all, written by a lawyer.
D
I'll never forget Steyn's take on Harry Potter using Hillary and Bill. I'm going to see if I can find it for you. To this day I just think of it and I giggle.
Another good column.
Regarding Hillary Clinton, I think she's worse than the ordinary "anything to get elected" politician. She's the kind who would have everyone who disagrees in concentration camps, if she had the power. Fortunately, the average voter - even the average Democrat-leaning voter - is likely to subliminally sense this, and vote for somebody else.
Must be the one "daviddennis" linked in Post #9. I haven't read the Harry Potter books, but my husband and kids have watched the movies at home, so I'm just familiar enough with the stories to get most of the humor from the column.
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