The Lego Movie

Unlike modernism and postmodernism, the first principles of metamodernism are fairly easy to understand. The basic premise is that we’re constantly caught between opposing concepts like “knowledge” and “doubt,” “reality” and “unreality,” and “Art” and“Life”; learning to move quickly between these concepts may be our best hope yet of regaining a sense of self in the Internet Age. The core message here is simple enough, in fact so simple that not only could a child pick it up quickly, it’s arguably children who understand the metamodern “cultural paradigm” better than anyone. Children, unlike their parents, move more or less seamlessly from the realm of fantasy to the aggressive insistence of reality. In fact, they daily face the prospect of having the things they think they know undermined by their elders. And while we don’t often associate childhood with High Art, certainly the most popular child’s toy in human history—Lego building blocks—is designed to let children forget their often restrictive lives for a while and bask, instead, in their own limitless ingenuity. Legos may or may not constitute building blocks for art, but if you’ve ever seen a child (or even an “AFOL,” an Adult Fan of Lego) mucking about with them, it’s hard to tell the difference between transient play and committed artistry. Which is exactly the point The Lego Movie wants to make to kids and adults alike: It’s okay not to know where to put things, or to put things in a place they don’t seem to belong, or to let your imagination outstrip your common sense. It’s equal parts a simple message of empowerment for kids and one sophisticated enough to deserve the adjective “metamodern,” making The Lego Movie the first unabashedly metamodern children’s film in Hollywood history.

In The Lego Movie—a film that combines actual Lego models, stop-motion animation, and (to a much greater extent) high-quality CG animation—an ordinary Lego minifigure of no great distinction, Emmet, learns that he alone has the means to stop the evil Lord Business from gluing together all the building blocks that comprise his universe. The metaphor is, at first blush, a pretty obvious one: Lord Business (Will Ferrell) wants to end dynamism of all kinds, including creativity, in order to better control all aspects of Lego (and, metaphorically, human) existence. As instruments for his nefarious scheme, Lord Business uses“micromanagers,” giant robotic Lego constructions whose literal purpose mirrors the emotional work so many human adults engage in every day: meticulously arranging existential elements whose native state is wild, unruly, and wonderful. Certainly, it’s no secret that much of what makes living worthwhile—the many forms of love; the many forms of courage; the boundlessness of creativity—makes little sense when we subject it to the petty prescriptions of micromanagement.

 

http://blogs.indiewire.com/pressplay/metamericana-the-lego-movie-metamodernism-for-kids