Stardust

In a world where the evidence for hatred, jealously and meanness of all kinds is so obvious, western audiences continually search for tales which will affirm their faith in the existence of love. Stardust will certainly oblige.

Stardust is the latest in a long line of fables sure to be snapped up by romance tragics. I well remember the advent of The Princess Bride and the effect its tale of ‘true love’ had on the all-girl dorm I lived in for two years (a story for another column). The girls longed to be Buttercup; the guys aped the swagger of the ‘the man in black’. Sure, the humour was unforgettable – who hasn’t heard someone attempt the line, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father – prepare to die!”? But the real pay-off was a very simple tale of love conquering all. Stardust is treading fairly firmly in its footsteps, and picking up some tricks from Pirates of the Caribbean along the way.

Charlie Cox plays Tristan, a shop-keeping boy who promises the object of his affections that he will cross the forbidden wall to bring her a piece of a star that has fallen to earth. But in the mystical land of Stormhold he discovers the celestial body he seeks has not landed in the form of a lump of ore but the beautiful maiden Yvaine (Claire Danes). Everyone is after her heart because it can bestow power and immortality on the possessor. Their success, however, will involve it being torn from Yvaine’s chest. Enter Michelle Pfeiffer as a formidable witch, and Robert De Niro as a memorable gay pirate. But, predictably it is the simple Tristan who captures Yvaine’s heart when he snares her affections.

Stardust’s story follows a trail marked out by one of the oldest archetypes. Since before the days of the Brothers Grimm, there have been tales of the unexpected luck of widow’s sons who have relied on a mixture of their wits, providence and luck to win through insurmountable odds. But the piles of treasure that used to be the goal have been substituted in the present for the promise of eternal love.

Love is the paragon virtue at the head of the western pantheon, though it is not a god that is worshipped in every form of cinema. Asian classics, for example, often have more to say about duty; European films major on understanding our place in things. But Hollywood hungers after stories of unfailing love in much the same way an abandoned child might hope for a parent who won’t walk away. Bono stated our need and our creed best when he sang about everything that he didn’t trust, then concluded: “I – I believe in love.”

In Stardust we are taught to believe that love is the greatest characteristic humans have ever managed to express. They are clearly reflecting something that rises above the “pain, lies and hate” that colours most of their other endeavours. Power, even immortality pale before the opportunity of possessing it. Yvaine asks if Tristan is tempted by the idea of eternal life. He answers that if it were to be worth anything, it would have to include an equally lasting relationship. “I imagine it would be kind of… lonely. But maybe if you had someone to share it with. Someone you love…”

The love Stardust offers is much like the Kingdom of Heaven Jesus describes in the parable, the ‘pearl of great price’ – worth any sacrifice. The Kingdom’s promise is, in the final analysis, not divine riches or an end to decay, but the ultimate relationship. The Father offers to spend all eternity teaching his children the depth of the affection that expressed itself at the cross. But the tragedy of Hollywood fantasy is that human love is supposed to be sufficient to last for eternity. Real life teaches us it is far less constant. If we are going to find a something that will quench the thirst of every human heart it is going to have to come from somewhere beyond our stars.

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