How The Neverending Story inspired me to write: The Ende
Thus concludes (what I hope is) the most in-depth and meaningful analysis of TNES available on the internet!
Darkness. Stillness. Bastian asks, “Why is it so dark?”
“In the beginning,” says the Empress, “it is always dark.”
BASTIAN’S MUSE
A light from the Empress’ hand illuminates their faces. A single glowing grain of sand. This is Bastian’s act of creation, from which will spring forth a wellspring of creativity.
She’s here now with Bastian, and she will never leave his side again. She–the childlike wonder within him–has become his muse.
She has a name now, and she knows her kingdom will become a reality. She places the glowing grain in his hand, and asks what he will wish.
At first, Bastian hesitates. He isn’t sure what to wish for.
The Childlike Empress grows saddened, explaining that if he doesn’t continue to wish, Fantasia will never exist. Bastian needs to get over his fear of the blank page. He needs to grow his seed from this single idea, a simple name, to many ideas.
Bastian: How many wishes do I get?
The Childlike Empress: As many as you want. And the more wishes you make, the more magnificent Fantasia will become.
A grain of sand may seem insignificant, but that’s how all story ideas begin. With a simple seed. And with it, Bastian has the power to create.
It’s not hard to imagine what his first act of creation will be…
Soon the characters are back in their full glory, along with the world they inhabited. And it’s better than ever because The Nothing no longer threatens it.
Instead, it will be up to Bastian to provide conflict for these characters, but not the type of conflict that will erase them from reality. This will be conflict that endears these characters to his future readers.
And hey, even Artax is back!
Endings don’t get much happier than this.
And if that weren’t enough of a finale, Bastian whispers a mischievous idea into Falkor’s ear, and the luck dragon bellows with great laughter.
This moment is the uplifting feeling of the 1980s distilled into crystalline perfection.
Bastian spends this sweet, sweet moment chasing down his bullies while terrorizing the nearby eyewitnesses in the city. Perhaps this creative choice was a little indulgent considering the story was already told, but it certainly made for a fun dénouement and ties the story back to the real world, like any standard portal fantasy should.
Without a scene like this, viewers would wonder if Bastian ever gets home and sees his father again. And in a very real way, a writer who actually completes his stories does bring his characters along with him, back into the real world. That’s the whole point.
This is Bastian’s moment of triumph, symbolic of finishing and publishing his work to great success.
The bullies cower in the same dumpster they had tried to stuff Bastian. But Bastian’s life is fantastic, now. It turns out the bullies were the ones who belonged in the dumpster after all. This trio of boys will go on to live their lives in mundane conformity, with Bastian soaring high above them, well beyond their reach.
Finally, the second half of Ende’s novel gets glossed over by what can best be described as an afterschool special voiceover:
“Bastian made many other wishes and had many other amazing adventures before he finally returned to the ordinary world. But that’s another story.”
Queue Limahl’s hit single. As the credits roll by, it’s a bittersweet moment. The movie has ended, but The Neverending Story has not.
It’s up to the creatives in the audience to make sure it never does.
BOOK VS. MOVIE: THE CHILDLIKE EMPRESS’ NAME
Since you’ve made it to the final post of arguably the most in-depth analysis of The Neverending Story available on the internet (thank you for sticking with me!), I owe you a few more factoids and observations for closure’s sake.
I just didn’t want these strange and annoying little details getting in the way of our discussion and enjoyment of the penultimate moments of the film.
Let’s start with a fun one: The voiceover at the end of the film was done by the same voice actor that had provided the voices for Falkor, the Rock Biter, and G’mork. (But Alan Oppenheimer is most famously known as the voice of Skeletor from He-Man.)
In the book, Bastian struggles with naming the Childlike Empress for far, far longer than he did in the movie. In fact, he’s so unwilling to do so (and acts like such a whiny brat about it) that the Childlike Empress forces both her world and the real world into an infinite loop, refusing to break that loop until he finally succumbs to her wishes and names her.
Forcing 10-year old Bastian to create against his will sends a much different, much darker message than the movie had gotten across.
Perhaps this more menacing novel version of the Childlike Empress needs to pay George R.R. Martin a visit. (And myself, too.)
In the book and movie alike, Bastian screams the name “Moonchilde” into the night. A creative choice, for certain. But it doesn’t do much to differentiate itself from “The Childlike Empress”.
One point that causes unnecessary confusion in the movie occurs shortly after Atreyu’s encounter with the Southern Oracle. Bastian wanders to the attic window and says:
“What a shame they don’t ask me. My mother, she had such a wonderful name.”
Many viewers conflate this scene with the much later one where he cries out “Moonchilde” into the storm, and figure it must be his mother’s name.
But I guarantee there’s no way this guy married some hippie named Moonchilde:
Well, maybe in his wilder days?
But given the fact that the scene wasn’t even in the book, it seems the name “Moonchilde” really was Bastian’s original creation.
BOOK VS. MOVIE: GETTING LOST IN THE WEEDS OF CREATION
Instead of quickly rebuilding Fantastica/Fantasia like he does in the movie, Bastian must will it into existence one wish at a time.
But each wish costs him a memory.
Losing those memories makes Bastian slowly go insane, and having the power of creation goes to his head so much that he becomes an evil dictator.
Instead of giving his characters scenarios to overcome, he threatens his characters with scenarios only he can save them from. A true Gary Stu self-insert situation. He writes himself as the Superman of his own world.
In time, he goes so mad with power that he exiles Atreyu and forms an army to storm the Childlike Empress’ tower. He wishes to kill her and crown himself the King of Fantastica.
The opposing army? A group of Empress loyalists led by Atreyu.
Bastian’s army manages to burn the Ivory Tower to the ground, and Bastian runs his sword through Atreyu’s chest, nearly killing him.
I know this all sounds badass and metal, but it also flies in the face of the story themes and lessens learned.
Afterwards, Bastian gets an Ender’s Game style denouement where he wanders the lands in self-exile, trying to pay reparations for the stupid, stupid choices he’s made. The lands he visits are surreal and … irritating, if I’m being honest, including a hive mind hippie commune where everyone smokes dope.
During his pitiful travels through Fantastica, Bastian comes to realize the only way he can return home is by resolving all the plot threads he had started.
Only… he can’t do that because not only has he lost his memories, he can no longer make wishes.
Congratulations, book version of Bastian. You managed to become The Nothing.
So, it’s up to Atreyu and Falkor to spend the rest of their days finding and resolving the plot threads he irresponsibly left unresolved so that he may one day return home.
…What a mess. And what a nihilistic outcome.
At any rate, just like how Ende wiped Atreyu’s memories during the awful and misadvised Third Gate scenario, he wanted to wipe Bastian’s memories, too.
…I don’t understand why Ende was so obsessed with wiping young boys’ minds.
Well, that’s a lie. I do know why. It’s because in order to transform yourself, according to Anthroposophy doctrine you must “forget everything you know”.
Look… sometimes forcing a tale to fit your bizarre occult beliefs can harm the story more than help it. And, it’s rare, but sometimes a movie adaptation can surpass the novel that birthed it.
SAVING MR. ENDE
Wolfgang Petersen had decided to end the movie partly due to budgetary constraints and a 90-minute runtime, but also because Bastian’s story had already been told. All relevant character arcs had been resolved in a satisfying way and the characters had learned the lessons they needed to.
Ende didn’t see it that way, though. Many of his messages about Anthroposophy and German Idealism had gotten lost in translation.
And then there were all the other little things: Bastian wasn’t a fat and ugly loser, Atreyu wasn’t green, Artax couldn’t talk, the Third “No-Key Gate” wasn’t in the film, the battle with Ygramul the Many didn’t happen, the Rock Biter appeared a second time for his iconic “These strong hands” speech, etc. Not to mention the second half of the book wasn’t present.
The sudden movie ending seemed a bit like sabotage to Ende, and perhaps it was. I imagine Petersen realized the second half of Die Unendliche Geschicte, as “metal” and “dark” and “edgy” as it may be, was not at all necessary to this tale and could wait for a sequel.
I know the novel has its fans, but I believe Petersen made the right call. The second half is a self-indulgent, bloated, and unnecessary mess.
If you’ve watched The Neverending Story 2, you at least have an idea of how dull the second half of the book is. But even that movie, while much closer in tone to the novel, did a lot of course correction to fix many of Ende’s more egregious mistakes. It didn’t save the sequel from mediocrity, but trust me when I say The Neverending Story 2 could have been a lot worse.
It could have been a lot better, too if it weren’t for Ende’s meddling. But we’ll get to that in a moment.
And, for the love of God, don’t watch The Neverending Story 3 unless you’re in the mood for a “bad movie night”.
…I apologize for subjecting you to that.
Certainly, all the creative differences during the production had added up, but the straw that broke the camel’s back for Michael was the ending.
Ende took great umbrage with the moment Falkor flew into the real world, in particular.
He insisted that Falkor and other characters from The Neverending Story simply couldn’t leave the book. That it wasn’t possible. Yet Petersen had Bastian and Falkor flying in all their glory over Vancouver for the final scene to wrap thing up. (Aside from the beginning and end, the rest of the movie was filmed in Germany.)
A reasonable enough disagreement. After all, he’s the author. But his overreactions were dramatically incongruent, especially considering how beloved and successful the film became, which undoubtedly brought him many more book sales and fame.
None-the-less, Ende hated this movie with the passion of a thousand burning suns. He hated it until his dying day.
Wolfgang Petersen tried very hard to appease Ende (pronounced ahn-duh, by the way, like Honda without the “H”). He knew Ende didn’t like the script and offered to meet with him in Rome to work things out and “make peace”. He brought Ende to the set to provide feedback during the whole production, but all those efforts did little to change Ende’s mind.
I’m sure Petersen would have enjoyed filming the epic battle and some of the gorier moments of the second half of Ende’s book and was perfectly capable of it. After all, he’d just finished directing Das Boot before picking up this project.
Since the pair were at an impasse, the producers and director made the very difficult decision of moving on with the production without him.
Ende was furious, demanding that his name be taken off the project and that production be halted immediately. When they failed to comply, Ende got his lawyers involved and took them to court, trying to force them to stop.
Thankfully, the court ruled against Ende and the production was allowed to continue.
Producer Dieter Geissler wanted to make a trilogy because he was in love with Ende’s book, but Ende sued Geissler and his production company, forbidding them from having a say in any future treatments of his work.
By the time the legal battles were over and the movie was allowed to be released, and an additional year’s worth of pre-production was complete, Barret Oliver, Noah Hathaway, and Tami Stronach were too aged to reprise their roles. And most of the same talent could no longer be there because they were legally barred.
The sequel… was not well-received. And the rest is history.
DID ENDE UNDERSTAND HIS OWN BOOK?
I find it ironic that Ende, of all people, wanted The Nothing to eat up a movie full of so much heart, creativity, and ingenuity.
The movie did a wonderful job conveying the most important lessons of the book, managed to stay kid-friendly, and delivered the double fourth wall breaks in a powerful and memorable way. Furthermore, it became a cultural zeitgeist across the globe and left plenty of room for a sequel.
Against all odds, it managed to perfectly cast three excellent child actors and achieved impressive special effects that aged better than its sequels. The movie–and his book–are still celebrated to this day and treated as separate entities, both great.
As an author, it’s hard to ask for much more in an adaptation to the big screen. Which again begs the question: Did Ende understand his own book?
Atreyu ultimately fails his quest because he’s just a fictional character–A ‘human child’ is required to name the Childlike Empress. Bastian has something Atreyu does not: Creativity. The power to create.
In the end, the Childlike Empress appeals directly to the camera, speaking to the audience. Atreyu doesn’t understand why Bastian won’t show himself and create. But she answers with the most profound words:
“He simply can’t imagine that one little boy could be that important.”
And then she explains: “Just as he is sharing all your adventures, others are sharing his.” She’s speaking of the audience, of course.
And then she begs you–the person watching the film–to not let The Nothing win. To be creative and make great things.
“Bastian,” she cries, “Why don’t you do what you dream, Bastian?”
Indeed, why don’t we? Why do we sit on our butts wasting our days playing tappy-tap games on our smartphones when we have the power to create worlds? Hm.
We have the means to create. We have infinite wishes. We have a grain of glowing sand in the palm of our hands. And yet so many of us fail to use it.
Bastian creates his story seed by crying out a name into the storm at night.
On the 30th Anniversary Edition Blu-Ray, I had the subtitles on, yet it’s the only line that isn’t subtitled. And the audio is obscured on purpose so you can’t quite tell what Bastian says. That’s the moment the true meaning of the movie dawned on me.
The name Bastian cried is whatever we want it to be. The movie is asking us to be creative. At least that’s the way I interpret it. Which inspires me to this day.
I hope it does the same for you.
I believe Ende did understand his tale. He just had different motives than Petersen and Geissler, who both wished to deliver an entertaining, meaningful children’s story that honors Ende’s classic work… while staying within budget.