Article

Comment

Film & TV

25 August 2023

8 min read

Dear Greta Gerwig: how your Netflix Narnia can be a roaring success

Narnia fan John Kuhrt pens an open letter to a daunted Hollywood director on helping her handle the Great Story.

Jon Kuhrt

Jon Kuhrt is CEO of Hope into Action, a homelessness charity. He is a former government adviser on how faith groups address rough sleeping.

A film director stands next to a camera to look at its screen, while a camera operator looks on

Dear Greta,

Congratulations on being appointed Screenwriter and Director for Netflix’s The Chronicles of Narnia. I really enjoyed your films Ladybird and Little Women and I am seeing Barbie this week as I have been away. It’s great to see a writer/director of your standing getting this crucial job.

I know you feel daunted to take on this job and I am writing to share five thoughts on what you need to bear in mind to make the series a success. I cannot claim to know anything about producing films or TV series. But I do know about Narnia.

Like millions of others, the books have been very significant to me. I read them first when I was a teenager, but I have continued to re-read them into adulthood. They have given me a reference point for some of my deepest questions about purpose, faith, life and death.

Disney/Walden Media’s Narnia series faltered after three films. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) was a huge box-office hit but was followed by less successful adaptations of Prince Caspian (2008) and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010). I thought all three films had many good qualities but the abandonment of the project less than halfway through shows the challenges of bringing Narnia to visual life.

So, with all this in mind, these are my five tips for how to create a great Narnia series:

1. Understand the thinking behind the books

The author, C.S. Lewis, was both an academic expert in medieval literature and a high-profile Christian author and communicator. He was a brilliant but complex man. Understanding him, his beliefs and his aims in writing Narnia is fundamental.

The two best books on this subject are Michael Ward’s Planet Narnia: the Seven Heavens in the Imagination of C.S. Lewis and Rowan Williams’ The Lion’s World: a journey into the heart of Narnia.

Ward’s book is a highly academic dissection of the hidden ‘key’ which Lewis implanted within each book (it was subsequently published in an abridged and more accessible version as The Narnia Code). The mish-mash of themes and diverse myths and legends in Narnia has puzzled and frustrated academic readers for decades. It was one reason why his friend J.R.R. Tolkein disliked the books so much. But Ward argues that the coherence and distinct atmosphere of each book comes from each being based on a different planet from the medieval cosmos. It is a thesis which has won almost unanimous affirmation.

Williams’ book is very different. It is a short but deep reflection on the theology that Lewis was conveying through the Narnia tales. His opening chapter discusses ‘The point of Narnia’ and he uses Shakespeare, Dostoevsky and Augustine to explore the ideas in the stories. He also assesses and responds to the criticism the books have faced.

2. Recreate the distinct atmosphere of each book

No other books have given me such a vivid experience of ‘going into another world’ as the Narnia books have. I now realise this is because of the most fundamental, yet intangible, strength of the books: the atmosphere, mood or tone that Lewis creates.

As Ward writes, quoting Lewis:

“Lovers of romances go back and back to such stories in the same way that we go ‘back to a fruit for its taste, to a region for its whole atmosphere – to Donegal for it Donegality and London for its Londonness.’ ”

Lewis was fascinated by literature which drew the reader into enjoyment of a story by indwelling it: seeing ‘through it’ rather than ‘at it’. Ward coins the term ‘donegality’ to describe this hidden element which establishes an intrinsic quality: ‘…the inner meaning of a romance cannot be flagged up by the author without altering its true nature. It has to remain hidden, woven into the warp and woof the story.’

The challenge for Netflix is that each Narnia book has a distinct ‘donegality’ based on the ancient themes and characteristics associated with the seven planets. This makes them very different to the Harry Potter books, which have a more uniform feel and consistency. Capturing the distinctive essence of each book will be vital to re-create the atmosphere Lewis aimed for.

3. Embrace Narnia’s spirituality

All adaptations of Narnia have to grapple with how they will handle the clear spiritual themes within the books. Faith makes corporations nervous but ‘theological due-diligence’ will be a key part of the creative and strategic discussions. I would advise Netflix to be bold and as true to Lewis’ thinking as possible.

In its 1980s, the BBC airbrushed spirituality out and this was one factor which made it a poor adaption. In contrast, Disney were braver in their films. As one newspaper wrote after the box office success of the first film ‘Disney finds a way to worship both God and Mammon’.

However, Disney never got to attempt some of the most theologically challenging scenes in the series. Narnia’s creation in The Magician’s Nephew and its apocalypse and depictions of heavenly re-creation in The Last Battle will be immensely difficult to convey on screen. These scenes will not work without confidence and clarity about what Lewis was trying to get across.

Rather than seeing them simplistically as allegories of Christian faith, it is best to see the stories as deeply infused with spiritual meaning. Rowan Williams answers the question ‘What is the point of Narnia?’ by saying that Lewis is doing nothing less than ‘trying to recreate for the reader what it is like to encounter God’. He is trying to

‘rinse out what is stale in our thinking about Christianity – which is almost everything.’

But this does not mean being preachy. Williams makes the point that ‘there is no church in Narnia, no religion even’.

Instead the spirituality is embedded within the ‘non-religious’ action: the bravery, treachery, sibling tension, bullying, reconciliation and forgiveness which are jam-packed into the stories. Spiritual truth is embedded and woven within each story.

4. Get the central character right

The character of Aslan stands right at the heart of the books. He is the only character who features in all seven books in the series, he sings the world into existence and presides over its end. He is the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and Omega of the whole story.

Aslan is very obviously an ‘authority figure’ but Lewis’ achievement is to craft a character who is both immensely powerful and enduringly attractive. And the key to this is the subversive nature of his authority. In an age where there is so much questioning of structural inequality and systemic injustice this is an aspect which Netflix should emphasise.

Rowan Williams draws this out with great insight: in Narnia ‘evil is cast as the ultimate force of reaction; we are invited to see ourselves as living ‘under occupation’ and summoned to join a resistance movement.’ Aslan’s wildness, his animality, represents the unpredictable world of grace which opposes the ‘ordered state of sin’ of the White Witch, King Miraz or (most deeply) the prisons we build for ourselves. Williams writes:

‘Transcendance is the wildness of joy; and the truth of God becomes a revolution against what we have made of ourselves’.

This is why Aslan’s victories lead to riotous partying. As Williams points out this is an ‘explosion of liberating festivity’ which (uncomfortably for some Christian readers) includes pagan revelry. At the end of Prince Caspian both the god Bacchus and a drunken Silenus make appearances to celebrate the liberation Aslan brings.

Aslan is the focus of hope not because he ‘saves souls’ but because he is the liberator of people and the whole of creation. Getting Aslan right will be a huge part of getting Narnia right.

5. Interpret it for a new audience

The Narnia books have faced criticism from authors such as Philip Pullman and J.K. Rowling. When Disney released the first film, Guardian columnist Polly Toynbee wrote an article titled ‘Narnia represents everything that is most hateful about religion’.

Rowan Williams engages head-on with the accusations that the books have overtones of racism and sexism and that they glorify violence. Whilst allowing for the fact that Lewis was an author of his time, he accepts the discomfort that modern readers will feel, for example, in how the ‘dark-skinned’ Calormenes are presented.

He also discusses one of the saddest parts of the stories: that former hero Susan is ‘no longer a friend of Narnia’ by the end of the series. Williams fairly defends this plot-line from those who claim it as evidence of Lewis’ misogyny.

More obviously, the old-fashioned dialogue of the children (‘Golly gosh’, ‘By Gum, you’re a beast’ etc) is a turn-off for modern audiences. The Disney films modified this well and used the backdrop of the Second World War at the start of each of the films to provide a more gritty context than conveyed in the books.

If you hold fast to the core of the books (see points 1-4) then stylistic changes and wise handling of aspects which are uncomfortable for today’s audience will enhance the series. All stories needs reinterpreting for a new audience.

The Great Story…

Narnia is a great story, but a key reason for its enduring popularity is because it reflects something of the Great Story of which we are all a part. As Lewis puts it himself in the conclusion of the final book:

“Now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

I wish you all the best with the production of the series and I look forward to seeing the result.

Thanks,

Jon Kuhrt, Narnia fan, South London (aged 51).

PS: You might be interested in this talk I gave on The Magician’s Nephew, my favourite Narnia book.

(This article was first published on Jon Kuhrt's Grace+Truth blog in August 2023).

Article

Character

Culture

Film & TV

Purpose

13 June 2025

6 min read

Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt offers a blueprint for life

The latest in the Mission:Impossible franchise dares to ask some surprisingly existential questions

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

What happens we he stops running?

When it comes to action movies, most of us aren’t looking for philosophical musings as much as a dose of adrenaline-fuelled escapist entertainment. Few franchises understand this better than  Mission: Impossible, which has consistently delivered on that front—train wrecks, car chases, gun battles, bomb blasts, submarine fights, knife fights, fist fights, dog fights, and, of course, running. Lots of running.

The latest blockbuster in the franchise, Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning — which Tom Cruise has suggested may be his last outing as Ethan Hunt — is no exception. But alongside its brilliantly choreographed action scenes, the film also dares to ask some surprisingly existential questions.

Who wants to live forever?

Tom Cruise has achieved legendary status not just for his acting, but for his relentless dedication to performing the most technically demanding stunts in cinema history. Over the years, he’s scaled the Burj Khalifa, clung to the side of a plane during take-off, parachuted from 25,000 feet, flown helicopters through perilous terrain, and held his breath underwater for more than six minutes—without a stunt double in sight.

Now 62, Cruise would be forgiven for taking it easier. Instead, after performing in what one director has called the most ambitious stunt in cinematic history: launching a motorcycle off a cliff, a mid-air dismount, followed by a parachute drop in the previous movie, Cruise has upped the ante again by engaging in an aerial battle atop a biplane flying at 10,000 feet. This involved climbing onto the wing of a moving aircraft travelling at 145 mph enduring hurricane-force winds, while the pilot performed manoeuvres designed to dislodge him.

Cruise has become something of a cultural symbol of immortality. His character, Ethan Hunt, continually evades death, rarely stopping to mourn the losses of others—even those closest to him. But this film feels different. It asks how long someone—real or fictional—can continue to outrun death.

Watching Hunt - and Cruise - cheat death time and again may be entertaining, but it also taps into something deeper. A recent COMRES survey revealed that the top four human fears are all death-related: dying in pain (83 per cent), dying alone (67 per cent), being told they’re dying (62 per cent), and dying in hospital (59 per cent). Final Reckoning doesn't just distract us from these fears—it subtly forces us to confront them. No matter how fast, fit, or famous we are, none of us gets out alive.

What is life really about?

Because the line between Ethan Hunt and Tom Cruise is now so thin, Dead Reckoning plays almost like a eulogy to both. The film opens with a message of thanks from the President of the United States:

“Good evening, Ethan. This is your President. Since you won't reply to anyone else, I thought I'd reach out directly. First, I want to thank you for a lifetime of devoted and unrelenting service… Every risk you've taken, every comrade you've lost, every personal sacrifice you’ve made, has brought this world another sunrise.”

The sentiment feels a little self-indulgent. The camera rarely leaves Cruise, and nearly everything and everyone else feels like a garnish to his character. He gets the best lines, the best cars, the best love interests, the best scenes. At times, Dead Reckoning feels a little like Mamma Mia! — a loose thread of a plot connecting a series of spectacular set-pieces rather than musical numbers.

Still, as the franchise nears its end, it’s bittersweet to say goodbye to a character who’s become part of global popular culture. And it prompts a deeper question: If we can’t look back on our lives and say we gave the world another sunrise, what does make a life well-lived—for those of us who don’t defuse nuclear bombs before breakfast? What have we personally sacrificed for the greater good?

Who Is expendable?

With a body count hovering around 500, the Mission:Impossible series has never shied away from collateral damage. Ethan Hunt has always been portrayed as someone willing to expense the few to save the many.

But The Final Reckoning confronts that idea. It reintroduces William Donloe, a minor character from the original 1996 film, who was the CIA analyst that got reassigned to a remote outpost in the Bering Sea after Hunt famously infiltrated his high-security vault - in that iconic scene where Cruise is suspended from the ceiling, inches above a pressure-sensitive floor, and drops his commando knife, point-first, into the desk. Now, decades later, Hunt seeks him out to apologise.

Surprisingly, Donloe responds with grace. He says the reassignment was the best thing that ever happened to him: it led him to meet the love of his life. Though he had lost everything in a house fire caused by Hunt’s team, he had managed to salvage the commando knife from the original vault heist and gives it back to Hunt as a token of his appreciation.

This could have been a moment of genuine reflection for Hunt—a chance to reckon with the unintended consequences of his actions. Instead, it serves to reinforce the idea that even Hunt’s mistakes are somehow for the best. Hunt is presented as almost messianic—an infallible saviour whose instincts are always right.

But this portrayal contrasts sharply with the biblical Messiah, who taught that no one is expendable. In Jesus’ teaching, every life matters, enemies are to be loved, and compassion is both the means and the end. The ends never justify the means. Love is the mission.

Who Is my neighbour?

One of the deeper themes of the film is the tension between loyalty to those closest to us and responsibility to the wider world. Hunt’s enemies consistently try to exploit his love for friends and family, exposing it as a vulnerability. On a number of occasions, the villains kidnap or threaten someone close to Hunt in order to manipulate him. He is faced with the dilemma - to save the one he loves, or to save everyone else?

At one point, a character offers this reflection:

“We all share the same fate—the same future. The sum of our infinite choices. One such future is built on kindness, trust, and mutual understanding, should we choose to accept it. Driving without question toward a light we cannot see. Not just for those we hold close, but for those we’ll never meet.”

It’s a powerful line—one that challenges narrow tribalism in favour of a universal compassion. In recent years, some have tried to co-opt Christian ethics in support of nationalism, prioritising loyalty to family, faith, and country above all else. But this film’s ethos cuts across that narrative.

In an age of toxic patriotism and growing division, it’s striking that an international superspy like Ethan Hunt seems to offer a profoundly global vision: act not only for those we love, but for the good of the whole world—even at great personal cost.

Hunt’s worldview echoes a deeply biblical theology: every person has worth, and we’re called to love our neighbour—including those who don’t speak our language or share our culture. The franchise promotes a genuine Christian ethic of sacrificial love. And why not? At the heart of Christianity is the story of a God who sent His Son on a seemingly impossible mission to save the world.

It’s hard to miss the moral and theological framework that underpins Final Reckoning. It is, perhaps, this foundation that makes Ethan Hunt’s character not only thrilling but deeply human. Amid the explosions, stunts, and spectacle, Mission: Impossible makes us think, and subtly reminds us that the greatest mission of all might be love.

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