You Mean The Horse DOESN'T Die?!

    Before anything else, I just want to mention that I met an Amish man on the tube in London. I’m not sure how often you guys see them over here, but when I asked him about riding a train, he said that “The coach and buggy just doesn’t quite cut it for such distances.” I laughed for a long while after he got off.
    Anyhow, it was back to the old grind once I returned to campus and, wouldn’t you know it, sitting in chapel and ignoring the service was the first order of business once school started again. I’d become rather accustomed to the organ cranking out sounds reminiscent of a calliope and had stopped watching the other audience members. I knew that I’d be surrounded by shy, bored people inundated with carnival music, and turned instead to writing notes about my fantasy stories. My head snapped up at the end of the service, though, when I heard the “Game of Thrones” theme playing. Most people’s heads turned at this, a bunch of them laughed, and it was great to watch the confused expressions of those who didn’t get the reference. Last term, the organist had played “Chim Chimmeny” from “Mary Poppins,” but I had dismissed it as a flight of fancy as nothing so fun had cropped up again in his repertoire. Okay, I thought. This makes up for that detestable arrangement of “The Lord Is My Shepherd” that they played last month. The damned thing sounded like a wake, not a thankful praise to God. After that it was classes, music, drama, exercise, lending a friend “Dracula Dead and Loving It,” writing, going to see a play, and helping to convince a Malaysian girl that Azkaban was a real place. Yep. Just a normal week in England.
    We went to see “War Horse” in Manchester soon after the term began. I’d never seen this before and had been told that it was a heartbreaking story and that my friend had bawled her eyes out when she saw the movie. I can’t say that I was so moved by it, but I was awed by their use of elaborate, 3-man horse puppets, the acting, and their use of a goose. The horse shells were controlled by a system of pulleys, clamps, and the men carrying the puppets from underneath. The ears were made to twitch, the necks bent realistically, the legs flowed, and everything else brought the brown painted mesh of twigs to life. The only actors that I wasn’t impressed with were the cousin, uncle, and whoever the little French girl was supposed to be, but who cares about the French anyway? However, the goose puppet stole the show by biting people’s ankles and getting the kitchen door slammed in its beak. Aside from that, (SPOILER ALERT- Skip to next paragraph if you wish to avoid major plot revealers), I was expecting a devastating, emotional scene toward the end. The protagonist had enlisted in the army just to find his “conscripted” horse amidst the slaughter of World War I and bring it (Joey) home. The horse, meanwhile, had suffered machine guns, artillery, being worked nearly to death, and getting tangled in barbed wire. At the end, the protagonist got hit with chlorine gas and was sitting in a hospital, blinded temporarily, and lamenting that it would be impossible to find Joey, now that he was being sent home and he’d pretty much surrendered the search after several years anyhow. At that moment, Joey was brought in by some allied soldiers who discovered him, rejoicing over such a lucky find, but the officer declared it half-dead and decided that it needed to be put out of its misery. Here it comes, I think. They’re going to kill Joey right behind his blind owner. The real tear-jerker. The officer put his pistol to Joey’s head, pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. “Damn it!” the officer shouted. “Misfire! Get me a working gun!” Well, while he was getting the gun, the protagonist started whistling which got Joey’s attention, they were reunited, Joey was spared, they lived happily ever after, and I was left wondering “What the heck?” I mean, tons of people had said how sad this play was and, yes, there were some awful parts with dying horses and whatnot, but I feel like the writer robbed this play of some of its potential by having a happy ending. Don’t get me wrong, I like happy endings too, but with everything else in the play, they could have made such a profound anti-war statement by killing Joey. It certainly wasn’t a kid’s show, that’s for sure. With the protagonist blinded and his greatest love, a horse (an image of natural beauty, strength, and innocence), killed right next to him without his knowing, the director could have conveyed how war desecrates nature, ruins beauty, and steals away everything wonderful, such as hope and love, without men’s knowledge or notice. It could even have implied that blind faith is misplaced or any number of other messages! It was a cute and happy ending, but I can understand why this is more fitting for a Disney movie, rather than a social analysis. Maybe that’s just the curmudgeon in me talking. I don’t know.
    Anyhow, on the way back, I got dragged into a rather odd conversation. “Hey, Matthew.” Wez tapped my shoulder. “What’s the name of that American prison on an island in the ocean?” Nabilah peeked around him to listen to me. I had caught snippets of their conversation and had heard the word “Azkeban” once or twice, but I failed to catch on.
    “What, Guantanimo Bay?” I asked. “We don’t have any others that I know about.”
    “No, no, not that one,” Wez said, straight faced and shaking his head. “It’s like that though.”
    It clicked. “Oh! Do you mean Azkaban?”
    “Yeah! That’s the one!”
    “Yeah, but that’s a British prison, not American.”
    “Oh, right,” he said, letting a little smile through that the girl couldn’t see. “Sorry. I’m a bit tired and my brain isn’t working.”
    “It’s alright. You live in Bangkok.”
    Nabilah started laughing, embarrassed. “Oh, God! You’re making me look so stupid for not knowing this!”
    “No, it’s alright!” Wez said, soothing her. “We’ll just have Matt tell you about it.”
    “N-No!” she said, horrified. “Why? I already look like an idiot!”
    “No, no! It’s fine! Matt’s like Wikipedia, but in his head and without the stupid comments!”
    Nabilah sort of glared at him as the word “Fine” escaped her lips.
    “Okay,” I began. “So do you know about Guantanamo Bay?” She shook her head. “Okay, well, it’s an American prison where we keep war criminals and terrorists for interrogation. We also keep normal people there for no reason because we’re assholes.”
    “Yeah,” Wez chimed in. “You guys can be pretty terrible.”
    “Yeah. Anyhow, Azkaban is like that for England, but they keep prisoners there that… aren’t quite right in the head. They are war criminals that are dangerous, but also crazy and won’t respond well to normal interrogation and torture techniques. It’s a mix between an asylum, a prison, and an interrogation facility. Now, they have these specialized inquisitors there, trained for just these prisoners. These inquisitors are called ‘Dementors…’” I let the last word hang in the air. Watching realization dawn on her face was like watching an incoming tidal wave from the shore. In brief, she laughed, but she was not happy with us and I don’t think she’s forgiven us for that yet. The problem is that she’s clever enough to turn this back on us somehow, so I’m still watching my back.
Save me.