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).

Review

Culture

Film & TV

Monsters

War & peace

4 August 2025

6 min read

The Fantastic Four taught me about family, truth and the end of the world

The whole film has a grown-up sophistication about what really matters.

Krish Kandiah

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

Walt Disney Studios.

I’ve just been to see the The Fantastic Four: First Steps, and honestly, I think it’s brilliant. It’s my favourite Marvel film in a long time. I might have to go all the way back to Guardians of the Galaxy to find something as funny, engaging, and moving. There’s a lightness to it, but also a surprising depth.

First of all, the setting. It’s done in this beautiful, kitschy 1960s style—retro aesthetics, clean design, soft colours. It’s subtle, not forced, and it gives the whole film a kind of grown-up sophistication. Then there’s the casting—each of them is just spot on. Vanessa Kirby plays Sue Storm as an independent, intelligent, maternal powerhouse. And Pedro Pascal’s Reed Richards—brilliant but vulnerable—brings something pretty human to the role of a superhero. Even through the layers of CGI animation, Ebon Moss-Bachrach brings pathos and quiet dignity to the role of Ben Grimm aka The Thing. 

But what really grabbed me wasn’t just the style, the humour or the casting—it was the themes. At the heart of this film are some big, timely questions: about family, about sacrifice, about truth—and about how we respond when the world is falling apart.

The power of sacrifice

Here’s the big plot point—and this is not a spoiler because it’s in the trailer—the Fantastic Four are about to become the Fantastic Five. Sue Storm aka The Invisible Woman is pregnant. She portrays well that beautiful mix of nervous excitement that every expectant parent knows. But because she and Reed Richards aka Mr Fantastic are becoming parents with superpowers and gamma radiation in play there is an additional fear and uncertainty about their unborn child. In the middle of this domestic intimacy things escalate. A threat emerges—Galactus, a cosmic entity capable of devouring entire planets. Sue and Reed are given an impossible ultimatum: to relinquish their unborn child to Galactus and save the world or keep their child and see the world destroyed. 

The film could have taken the easy route and made the unborn child symbolic or vague. But instead, it takes this child seriously. There’s a very beautiful moment where Sue uses her invisibility powers to reveal their baby as a fit and healthy little boy asleep in her womb. He is real, precious and non-negotiable.

The heroes will not even consider sacrificing the unborn child. They are willing to give up their own lives. They are willing to risk everything they have. But they won’t hand over their child to save the planet.

That hit me hard in a culture where the idea of sacrificing a child—or at least, the rights of the unborn—has become politically and ethically contested. People take a range of views on the issue, but here is this blockbuster superhero movie saying: “No. Even if the planet is at stake, this child matters.” This is a brave, countercultural stance that surprised me.

It is also particularly poignant given a view that is becoming more widespread: some people are suggesting that in order to save the planet, we should stop having children. Clearly they genuinely believe the world would be better off without future generations. But that logic feels deeply broken. It is as if we are trying to protect the planet from children, instead of for them.

What this film offers is a total reversal: the child is not the threat—the child is the hope. And for Christians, that resonates. Because at the heart of the gospel is the story of a child—born into a broken world, not to destroy it but to save it. And while Sue and Reed won’t give up their child to save the world, the Christian story is that God did just that. He was willing to do what this superhero family wouldn’t—sacrifice his Son to save us.

Truth and politics

As if the personal and familial dilemma was not enough by itself, the film also raises important political questions. The Fantastic Four are given the ultimatum about saving the world in the privacy of a meeting with Galactus on the other side of the universe. When they finally make it back to earth, they are asked to make a press statement and told to keep it short.

I found myself willing them to be quiet, to protect the privacy of their decision to save their baby, to save themselves the inevitable backlash, but instead they choose honesty. They tell the world the truth about the impossible decision they had to make—and why they made it.

In today’s political landscape, that kind of transparency feels rare. We’ve seen moments—during COVID, during the cost-of-living crisis, even around immigration and the rescuing of Afghan families—when the public hasn’t always been trusted with the full picture. Leaders hide behind spin, afraid to speak plainly, or take responsibility.

In the film we see what happens when the Fantastic Four choose honesty, even as a baying crowd surrounds their base. A speech is made that displays vulnerability, integrity, and courage. It reminded me that truth isn’t just about facts—it’s about trust. The best leaders are those who invite people into difficult conversations, who treat others as grown-ups, who inspire hope rather attract blame.

How do you face the end of the world?

It is not unusual for a superhero movie to navigate a global catastrophe, but this time planet earth is given some warning. The Silver Surfer comes as a herald ahead of the impending doom, warning of Galactus’ plan to devour the planet, and challenging people to use their time well, to celebrate life and show love to their families. The Surfer is almost a John the Baptist figure, although the prophet’s advice was repentance not just holding your loved ones closer. God was not coming to consume the earth for his own gratification, but to make the ultimate sacrifice to deal with the problem and reconcile humanity to himself.

A headline in the Daily Express the other weekend claimed: “Global Crises send GEN Z to church” It does seem that for some young adults there is renewed interest in spiritual things in general and Christianity in particular. Perhaps it really is because the world feels like it is about to implode. With climate crisis, political chaos, and global conflict, people are looking for hope, purpose and salvation in real life as well as in happy endings to movies.

Fantastic Four really made me think - while also making me laugh about car seats, pregnancy tests and giving birth on a spaceship.  I left feeling encouraged. Not because it offered easy answers, but because it reminded me that love—real, sacrificial, inconvenient, dangerous love—is still heroic. Truth matters. Children matter. Andd all the more so when faced with a brewing apocalypse.

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