Thor: Myth and Marvel

by Marie-Louise Jensen

In my family, we are looking forward to seeing it; Thor: The Dark World. In cinemas in just 15 days' time. It could be anything from fabulous to trashy Hollywood. The first film had elements of both. I thought the intelligent direction by Kenneth Branagh definitely shone through and gave the production some moments of real quality in among the superhero stuff. And who could play the powerful god better than Chris Hemsworth with that wonderful (almost certainly studio-enhanced) divine voice?

What is fascinating to me above all is tracing the similarities and differences between the Norse mythology I grew up reading and the Americanized Marvel superhero.
In mythology, Thor is the strongest of the gods. To aid his divine power, he owns Mjölnir, the mighty hammer, the belt of power, Megingjörð and the iron gauntlets, Járngreipr ('iron grippers'). These three possessions work together. The belt is said to double Thor's already prodigious strength, the hammer is a mighty weapon and he needs the gauntlets to wield it.
In the first Marvel film, Thor, the story has been simplified and only the hammer remains, plus some rather fancy and fashionable armour to aid the god-like screen image. Perhaps divine armour was made of plate metal in Asgard, who is to say? In Midgard, the armour of the Vikings was usually leather as iron was difficult to smelt and extremely valuable - too valuable to wear when it was the fates (the Norns) who decided your fate in battle. If it was your day to die, you would die and no amount of protection would help you. So while the amour is not in keeping with the mythology, as Natalie Portman (AKA Jane Foster) so rightly says: 'It's a good look'.
Then there's Jane Foster herself. Thor's wife in Norse mythology was fair Sif the golden-haired. In the Marvel film, Sif is recast as a fellow warrior and friend. Well, a wife would be highly inconvenient to the on-screen romance with the giggling scientist... Let it not be forgotten that the Norse gods frequently took human lovers (as did the Greek and Roman gods). But Hollywood prefers its superhero lovers to be faithful.
Asgard, the realm of the gods, is set on another planet and the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge between Asgard and Midgard, has been made, science-fiction like, into an interplanetary high-tech teleport between planets. But I rather like all that. Somehow it is in keeping with the mystical original tales.
I was also amused by Heimdal, the 'white god', being played by a black actor (Idris Elba) - he is completely splendid as the lonely watcher.
There is so much that is utterly wrong in the Marvel version, such as Thor being heir to the Kingdom. The idea that Odin will die and leave him to be King is mortal, not divine and unchanging. On the other hand, there are so many charming nods to the real mythology. Thor is reckless, delighting in danger and battle, careless of consequences.
Thor was not a sophisticated god; scholars and Kings might have looked to Odin, but Thor was the favourite god of the working man. Simple, straightforward and not always the brightest, he was worshipped by farmers, fishermen and other men who lived by labour. This is often captured in the Marvel character, even in among the formulaic 'lesson to be learned' script writing. He is still a god who overturns an entire banqueting table in temper, who relishes a good fight, who flings his Starbucks coffee cup on the floor to smash, calling for another. As you can tell; I had a good time watching the first film. Several times...
And what of Thor's mighty chariot, drawn by two goats, whom Thor regularly kills, roasts and eats and then resurrects the next morning? All these elements are entirely missing from the Marvel Thor. One can quite see why. It might sound good in a story, but the very thought of transferring it to the screen is like the bunny sled in The Hobbit - too horrible to contemplate.

From the Sketchbook: Mistletoe

By Teresa Flavin

I have never thought much about mistletoe, other than to avoid being caught under it at holiday parties. I knew the Christian belief that Christ’s cross was made from wood of the mistletoe, and that by having a sprig in the home, one was displaying a symbolic crucifix.

A chance encounter with Sir James Frazer’s The Golden Bough, A Study in Magic and Religion, published in 1922, revealed mistletoe’s fascinating history. All Sir James had to do was mention Druids and the Norse myth of Balder and I was hooked. This jolly looking plant, with its green leaves and light berries, is at the heart of epic dramas involving animal sacrifice, great fires, healing, fertility and protection from lightning and witchcraft.

Mistletoe is a parasitic plant that often grows on fruit trees and was revered when it was found on the sacred oak. Because it stays green in winter, even when its host has no leaves, and grows from the tree’s trunk and branches, the ancients believed mistletoe contained the oak’s spirit, held safely in mid-air between heaven and earth. To keep its power as a healing medicine and a charm against glamours and witches, mistletoe could not be allowed to touch the earth. It was hung up in the home or even around one’s neck as protection against evil. Sir James Frazer wrote that in the north of England and Wales, farmers gave a branch of mistletoe to the first cow to calve in the New Year, ensuring good luck for the dairy.

According to an account by Pliny, the Druids carried out a ritual ceremony when they found mistletoe growing on an oak tree. On the sixth day of the moon, they led two white bulls to the tree and a priest in a white robe climbed it, harvesting the mistletoe with a golden sickle and bringing it down in a white cloth. The two bulls were sacrificed and a feast was held under the oak. The Druids then made a potion from the mistletoe as an antidote to poisons and an aid to their animals’ fertility.

Norse mythology gave mistletoe great power over one of its beloved gods. Balder was the beautiful god of light, son of Odin and Frigga, whose blind twin, Hoder, was the god of darkness. Balder was also a seer who experienced extraordinary dreams and could read all runes. When Balder’s dreams deteriorated into nightmares foretelling his death, Frigga drew out a promise from each living and inanimate object in the world that it would not hurt her son. She overlooked the mistletoe plant, however, as it did not seem capable of threatening Balder.

Nothing could now harm the god of light. Balder’s fellow gods enjoyed taking pot shots at him, since no stone or blade could injure him. Loki, shape-shifting trickster god of deception, became jealous and plotted against Balder. In the guise of an old woman, Loki learned from Frigga that she had not elicited a promise from the mistletoe. He quickly fashioned a dart from a mistletoe branch that he stripped of its foliage and berries.

As the gods gathered to throw stones and shoot arrows at Balder for fun, Loki helped blind Hoder throw the mistletoe dart and kill his twin brother. Balder’s body was burned on a huge funeral pyre. Even his family's brave attempt to bring him back from the realm of the dead was thwarted by Loki, again in shape-shifting mode, and Hoder had to pay for his twin’s death with his own life.

The story of Balder is tied in with Midsummer Eve fire festivals in Scandinavia, when the symbolic light of his funeral pyre is brightest. Afterwards daylight diminishes and the seasons progress until once again, mistletoe’s green leaves stand out in the winter landscape.

Teresa Flavin is author and illustrator of The Blackhope Enigma and The Crimson Shard, published in the UK by Templar Publishing and in the USA by Candlewick Press. She is currently at work on her third novel for young people. The mistletoe sketch is ©Teresa Flavin and was done in acrylics on paper.