I found myself surprised in the early moments of There Will Be Blood, the latest critical hit from one of my favorite directors, P.T. Anderson. The film stars Daniel Day-Lewis as Daniel Plainview, a prospector turned oil baron, documenting his rise to power and the consequences of his success. The last time I saw Lewis it was in The Gangs of New York, where he played Bill ‘The Butcher” Cutting, one of the most deliciously evil characters in recent film history. The look of the character Plainview is a clear echo, intentional I’m sure, of Cutting, and so anytime we look at him early in the film, there is a natural instinct to dislike him or to not trust him.
But then we watch Plainview. In a fascinating sequence, the opening moments of the film, without using a single word, draws us into this man’s existence. We see him as a lonely prospector, risking his life mining for silver on his own. We see him with a small crew a few years later, working hard to dig his first oil well. When one of his crew member’s is killed, we see him take the man’s son in his arms, embracing him as his own. And we flash forward again, this time to Plainview as a legitimate “oil man,” trying to convince a town to lease him their land. As he talks, he speaks of family values and integrity, and even walks away from the deal because of the dissenting voices in the room. And we think, maybe, just maybe, this guy really wants to do it right.
We’re left with those lingering impressions even as the story slowly takes an ominous turn. The heart of the tale is found when Plainview is approached by Paul Sunday, the son of a poor goat farmer in remote Texas. Paul knows that there is oil on his land, and wants to work a deal with Plainview to let him mine it. Daniel pays Paul $500 as a finder’s fee, and then begins his investigation. This is a time when oil companies are jumping over each other to find the next big claim, and so Daniel has a deliberate process that he must go through as he begins his efforts to buy up the mining rights for the town.
It is at this point that we are introduced to the other key character, Paul’s brother Eli. Played by the same actor, it can be a bit confusing to make the connection, but where Paul has quietly put together a business deal than can give him his start in the world, Eli is concerned with weightier matters. He is the minister of the “Church of the Third Revelation,” the local charismatic church that is a major influence in the town. Because of his influence, Eli wields power, and despite his somewhat restrained demeanor, we quickly realize that he is very deliberately using that power to accomplish what he wants.
It is here that we begin to see Plainview’s character emerge. He is passionate about mining his oil and building a pipeline to the sea, and to do that he must placate those who can stand in his way. He does his best to get along with Eli, even as we get glimpses of his antipathy for him and his brand of religion. But as his efforts encounter barriers, Plainview finds himself required to play to Eli’s world more than he would like.
As I was watching the film, I kept thinking of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the classic Huston/Bogart film that deals with the emerging greed and obsession among three prospectors. Afterwards, I was intrigued to read that Anderson would watch Madre every night before filming. But where Madre dealt with an emerging greed that consumes otherwise decent people, Blood seems more interested in exploring a rage that is suppressed and finds ways to emerge. Looking at the film from the end, I don’t think he’s asking us to think of Plainview as a good man gone wrong, but to think of him as a man whose evil inclinations found their voice through a lifetime of self-serving pursuits.
That kind of picture of Plainview sits alongside a view of Eli that is pretty similar. While his brother uses his fee to start a nice business and to care for others, Eli continues to use his religion as a way of gaining power, influence, and wealth. In one of the most poignant scenes in the film, Plainview is able to get Eli to shout out “I am a false prophet and God is a superstition” over and over. It is exactly what we have come to know that Plainview thinks of Eli, and our opinion of him by that point isn’t much different.
There Will Be Blood is a powerful picture of greed and the consuming nature of sin. Plainview is consumed with himself and his own greed, and oil becomes the means by which he pushes away every good thing in his life. Eli finds that religion serves the same ends. Both are tools to pursue what it is they want. “God” for Eli seems nothing more than a word to speak that offers the prospect of power and control. Even when both get what they want, it is clear that their end is hollow, as everything of meaning is lost to them by the end.
The film is filled with quietly modest people that offer a different kind of model for living. But what it doesn’t see is how the search for power and control, whether that is gained through wealth or religion, can end up well. There’s a healthy challenge there, to recognize our own inclinations for evil desire and our ability to justify using good things, even the best of things, to serve those ends.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
Lars and the Real Girl: A Review
Lars is at once one of the more endearing and frustrating characters you can encounter in film. In the opening scenes of Lars and the Real Girl, we are introduced to a quiet and reserved guy who goes about life on the back row, making his way through his job, his church, his family, and what might pass for friendship without making too deep an impression. Because he offers so little, we get to know Lars primarily through the responses of others. We see his sister-in-law’s hunger to have him as a vital part of their family. We see the receptionist at work and the older ladies at church reach out to ask him about his life. We see the girl who shows obvious interest only to experience his awkward indifference. Taken together, we know little of Lars except that those he interacts with seem to like him, and so we can too.
With the character offered, we can let the squirming begin. His sister-in-law and brother are excited/bewildered when Lars shows up one night and says he has a new girlfriend and would like to bring her over for dinner and would like them to let her stay with them. Anticipating an exciting new chapter for the reclusive family member, they are shocked when he shows up with a life-size doll we had ordered off of the internet. They ran the gamut of emotions as they come to realize through the dinner that this is not a joke, and in fact Lars is fully convinced that she is real and is intent on cultivating a relationship with her.
The film navigates the awkwardness expertly. Lars is not interested in sex, and the chasteness in the relationship invites us to consider the nature of his delusion and his need for healing. We aren’t allowed to dismiss him, and in fact those that surround him refuse to. His family leads him to a psychologist, who convinces him of the need for them to meet weekly for his doll’s treatments. But as important as that relationship is, the key to Lars’ journey is the response from the community. His friends at work go along with the delusion, to allow him to engage socially in ways he has never done before. The church community embraces him and embraces her, finding a way to navigate the weirdness by emphasizing Lars’ place as a part of their family. His family feeds her, bathes her, dresses her, and goes to great length to incorporate her into their lives, all for the sake of reaching out Lars.
Over time, the community’s acceptance of the doll takes on comical dimensions. She eventually finds volunteer work in the community, and involvement that creates for her a life apart from Lars. While Lars has manufactured a relationship, the community essentially teaches him about the price of relationship, and the need to think unselfishly in our most precious relationships. While Lars created a relationship built around safety and control, he slowly comes to realize that relationships don’t function with that kind of control in mind.
For a film with a such a bizarre and often whimsical premise and beat, I was surprised to find how moved I was by its resolution. The community’s embrace of Lars and acceptance of the situation is tested in extreme ways, but the depth of character on display in their response was moving. Lars doesn’t experience a “Hollywood Healing” where everything is finally put together in his life, but he’s moved to a better place, and that movement is as gentle as the actions of those who served as its agents. We’re left with hope for his future, knowing that he has a remarkable community behind him.
Lars and the Real Girl was written and directed by two relative unknowns, Nancy Oliver and Craig Gillespie, but I hope the critical acclaim it has received invites more from them. I applaud their depiction of the church community, and find it an almost prophetic challenge to the real church. Can we be as accepting of the odd folks within our ranks? Is our church community the kind of place where broken people can walk through a gentle journey of healing? Lars is a remarkable picture of healing and the need for a community to embrace their broken people. At its best it offers a “gospel on display” that churches and Christians can and should find provoking as we reflect on our own community life, and of the powerful role that people play in each our healing journeys.
With the character offered, we can let the squirming begin. His sister-in-law and brother are excited/bewildered when Lars shows up one night and says he has a new girlfriend and would like to bring her over for dinner and would like them to let her stay with them. Anticipating an exciting new chapter for the reclusive family member, they are shocked when he shows up with a life-size doll we had ordered off of the internet. They ran the gamut of emotions as they come to realize through the dinner that this is not a joke, and in fact Lars is fully convinced that she is real and is intent on cultivating a relationship with her.
The film navigates the awkwardness expertly. Lars is not interested in sex, and the chasteness in the relationship invites us to consider the nature of his delusion and his need for healing. We aren’t allowed to dismiss him, and in fact those that surround him refuse to. His family leads him to a psychologist, who convinces him of the need for them to meet weekly for his doll’s treatments. But as important as that relationship is, the key to Lars’ journey is the response from the community. His friends at work go along with the delusion, to allow him to engage socially in ways he has never done before. The church community embraces him and embraces her, finding a way to navigate the weirdness by emphasizing Lars’ place as a part of their family. His family feeds her, bathes her, dresses her, and goes to great length to incorporate her into their lives, all for the sake of reaching out Lars.
Over time, the community’s acceptance of the doll takes on comical dimensions. She eventually finds volunteer work in the community, and involvement that creates for her a life apart from Lars. While Lars has manufactured a relationship, the community essentially teaches him about the price of relationship, and the need to think unselfishly in our most precious relationships. While Lars created a relationship built around safety and control, he slowly comes to realize that relationships don’t function with that kind of control in mind.
For a film with a such a bizarre and often whimsical premise and beat, I was surprised to find how moved I was by its resolution. The community’s embrace of Lars and acceptance of the situation is tested in extreme ways, but the depth of character on display in their response was moving. Lars doesn’t experience a “Hollywood Healing” where everything is finally put together in his life, but he’s moved to a better place, and that movement is as gentle as the actions of those who served as its agents. We’re left with hope for his future, knowing that he has a remarkable community behind him.
Lars and the Real Girl was written and directed by two relative unknowns, Nancy Oliver and Craig Gillespie, but I hope the critical acclaim it has received invites more from them. I applaud their depiction of the church community, and find it an almost prophetic challenge to the real church. Can we be as accepting of the odd folks within our ranks? Is our church community the kind of place where broken people can walk through a gentle journey of healing? Lars is a remarkable picture of healing and the need for a community to embrace their broken people. At its best it offers a “gospel on display” that churches and Christians can and should find provoking as we reflect on our own community life, and of the powerful role that people play in each our healing journeys.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Putting the X Back in Xmas
Walking through the labyrinth of the catacombs in Rome, one comes across some of the earliest symbols used by the church. As people would gather and mourn their loved ones, sometimes because they had been martyred for their faith, they would carve expressions of their faith in the stone. One of the most common was what would appear to us as an “X” and and overlapping “P.” It was the combination of two Greek letters, “Chi” and “Rho,” the first two letters of the Greek word “Christos,” or Christ. For us, the most enduring symbol of the Christian faith is probably the cross. For the early church, it was most likely that Chi-Rho combination.
When did the letter “X” come into use to represent Christ? The evidence isn’t clear, though most trace its origins back to those early days of the church and this Chi-Rho symbol. What we do know is that as early as the 1400’s, when Johannes Gutenberg was first introducing the printing press, its use became widespread as one of many abbreviations that were highly valued in a day of high printing costs. X was widely used as an abbreviation for Christ, and terms like “Xmas,” “Xn,” and other derivatives were quite common and considered entirely appropriate.
One would think that 600 years would be enough time to get used to an idea.
I usually try to stay out of a lot of cultural wars, finding most of them just too exasperating and often silly. But one has come home for me in the last few weeks, and seems like it may be worth taking a break from reviewing films to comment.
Our church is holding a Christmas celebration this year. Striving to make better inroads into our community, we have done a lot to try and build up our annual tradition and add features that might be of interest to our neighbors, things like a petting zoo and a visit with Santa. We’ve been trying to get the word out, spreading the word with door hangers and public notices. And of course we’ve used the marquee on our property, which is where we got into trouble.
Having limited space with a lot to communicate, several of our postings over the past few weeks have talked about our “Xmas Celebration.” One would have thought we had posted “Happy Birthday Satan” on Halloween. I wouldn’t say we have been inundated, but there have certainly been several calls from usually less than gracious people offended at our posting. Despite our efforts to educate them about their faith’s own history, our callers are usually pretty much locked into their assessment that our church is set on “taking Christ out of Christmas.”
The topic fascinates me on several fronts. As my comments at the beginning might suggest, to anyone who strives to appreciate the rich and diverse history of the Christian faith, the debate itself is fundamentally flawed. The use of “X” to represent Christ is very much a Christian symbol. It’s ours, and using it offers us the chance to echo and honor the very earliest days of our faith and the people who, often in the face of great persecution, were used mightily by God to pass on a faith that endures across the world thousands of years later. It is a wonderful connection to a remarkable past that we should seek to honor and celebrate. In the midst of a season that offers us many positive and negative things to be shaped by, I’m glad to point to such a rich tradition that is there to shape us, and challenge the historic amnesia that pervades the church.
Of course even if the symbol didn’t have such a rich tradition, it strikes me that the debate is still remarkable silly. Reading an article the other day, the writer had observed a busy person working the checkout at a retail store. Handing the customer their package, the clerk offered “Happy Holidays,” to which they got a terse, and indeed merriless, reply “It’s Merry Christmas!” I expect that this person probably would have called had they seen our sign as well.
What’s the issue? We live in a diverse culture. Many celebrate Christmas, including many who do not worship the Christ for whom the holiday exists, but many do not. Do we want to see a culture where people feel compelled to pay lip service to a faith that they do not subscribe to? The media allows Chevy Chase and Bart Simpson to tell us about the “true meaning of Christmas” (as Bart would say, “We all know Christmas is all about the birth of Santa”). In that context, shouldn’t Christians (excuse me, Xns) seek to invest the holiday with greater meaning, so that people might encounter the real “reason for the season.”
Admittedly, there is a ridiculous hostility on the other side of this cultural war, too. In this camp, advocates are pursuing a “naked public square,” where symbols of any faith are stripped from public places. Pushing back against this is worthwhile, but the response requires a bit more subtlety than we are seeing. Our battle is not for empty symbols in the public square, but instead a context where we can have a robust and meaningful conversation about the coming of our Lord.
The way that Christians need to respond is of course complex and necessarily variegated. But at times it may mean that we appreciate the use of symbols that represent Christ in quieter ways. It is what Eugene Peterson speaks of when he calls Christians to practice “subversiveness” in their culture, offering a message and a lifestyle that quietly offers an alternative to the culture without having to stand in opposition to it.
So I guess we need to put the “X” back in “Xmas,” practicing a greater appreciation for symbols, and looking for quieter ways to express our faith and message in a culture inundated with hostility. One thing’s for sure, the non-Christians that saw our marquee wouldn’t care one wit about the “X” on our sign or the one whom the “X” represents until they see the lives of the people who put the “X” there.
Merry Xmas!
When did the letter “X” come into use to represent Christ? The evidence isn’t clear, though most trace its origins back to those early days of the church and this Chi-Rho symbol. What we do know is that as early as the 1400’s, when Johannes Gutenberg was first introducing the printing press, its use became widespread as one of many abbreviations that were highly valued in a day of high printing costs. X was widely used as an abbreviation for Christ, and terms like “Xmas,” “Xn,” and other derivatives were quite common and considered entirely appropriate.
One would think that 600 years would be enough time to get used to an idea.
I usually try to stay out of a lot of cultural wars, finding most of them just too exasperating and often silly. But one has come home for me in the last few weeks, and seems like it may be worth taking a break from reviewing films to comment.
Our church is holding a Christmas celebration this year. Striving to make better inroads into our community, we have done a lot to try and build up our annual tradition and add features that might be of interest to our neighbors, things like a petting zoo and a visit with Santa. We’ve been trying to get the word out, spreading the word with door hangers and public notices. And of course we’ve used the marquee on our property, which is where we got into trouble.
Having limited space with a lot to communicate, several of our postings over the past few weeks have talked about our “Xmas Celebration.” One would have thought we had posted “Happy Birthday Satan” on Halloween. I wouldn’t say we have been inundated, but there have certainly been several calls from usually less than gracious people offended at our posting. Despite our efforts to educate them about their faith’s own history, our callers are usually pretty much locked into their assessment that our church is set on “taking Christ out of Christmas.”
The topic fascinates me on several fronts. As my comments at the beginning might suggest, to anyone who strives to appreciate the rich and diverse history of the Christian faith, the debate itself is fundamentally flawed. The use of “X” to represent Christ is very much a Christian symbol. It’s ours, and using it offers us the chance to echo and honor the very earliest days of our faith and the people who, often in the face of great persecution, were used mightily by God to pass on a faith that endures across the world thousands of years later. It is a wonderful connection to a remarkable past that we should seek to honor and celebrate. In the midst of a season that offers us many positive and negative things to be shaped by, I’m glad to point to such a rich tradition that is there to shape us, and challenge the historic amnesia that pervades the church.
Of course even if the symbol didn’t have such a rich tradition, it strikes me that the debate is still remarkable silly. Reading an article the other day, the writer had observed a busy person working the checkout at a retail store. Handing the customer their package, the clerk offered “Happy Holidays,” to which they got a terse, and indeed merriless, reply “It’s Merry Christmas!” I expect that this person probably would have called had they seen our sign as well.
What’s the issue? We live in a diverse culture. Many celebrate Christmas, including many who do not worship the Christ for whom the holiday exists, but many do not. Do we want to see a culture where people feel compelled to pay lip service to a faith that they do not subscribe to? The media allows Chevy Chase and Bart Simpson to tell us about the “true meaning of Christmas” (as Bart would say, “We all know Christmas is all about the birth of Santa”). In that context, shouldn’t Christians (excuse me, Xns) seek to invest the holiday with greater meaning, so that people might encounter the real “reason for the season.”
Admittedly, there is a ridiculous hostility on the other side of this cultural war, too. In this camp, advocates are pursuing a “naked public square,” where symbols of any faith are stripped from public places. Pushing back against this is worthwhile, but the response requires a bit more subtlety than we are seeing. Our battle is not for empty symbols in the public square, but instead a context where we can have a robust and meaningful conversation about the coming of our Lord.
The way that Christians need to respond is of course complex and necessarily variegated. But at times it may mean that we appreciate the use of symbols that represent Christ in quieter ways. It is what Eugene Peterson speaks of when he calls Christians to practice “subversiveness” in their culture, offering a message and a lifestyle that quietly offers an alternative to the culture without having to stand in opposition to it.
So I guess we need to put the “X” back in “Xmas,” practicing a greater appreciation for symbols, and looking for quieter ways to express our faith and message in a culture inundated with hostility. One thing’s for sure, the non-Christians that saw our marquee wouldn’t care one wit about the “X” on our sign or the one whom the “X” represents until they see the lives of the people who put the “X” there.
Merry Xmas!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Beowulf: A Review
I’m just not sure if English teachers are excited or exasperated these days. In the course of seven months, we have seen two works of classic literature brought to life for the Internet generation. They are certainly borrowing from the same page. Like 300, Beowulf opts to interpret (or reinterpret?) this classic heroes journey into a visceral, hard-driving, emotive affair that is meant to bring you top-notch moviegoing “experience” more than it is seeking to invite reflection on the hero’s choices along the way.
Using that as our standard, it is worth saying that Beowulf works. The first film I have ever seen to demonstrate an actual future for 3-D technology in film, it succeeds at captivating your attention. While other attempts in the last year at 3-D have either seemed to be mostly unnecessary, adding little to an already solid work (The Nightmare Before Christmas) or gimmicky, throwing in a few “BOO!” effects to an otherwise mediocre story (Monster House), Beowulf finally demonstrates why so many filmmakers, among them James Cameron and George Lucas, have been touting 3-D as the future for blockbuster cinema. Here, the 3-D experience coupled with the high-level animation invites you into a world that is just enough like our world to be familiar, but different enough to keep us watching. When the gimmick effects come, and yes they do throw a few things at you in this one, they seem to just fit better to the grand-scale of the epic. Whether this is the “future of the filmmaking” is beyond me, but this film convinces me that we will be seeing more of this, and with good promise.
Oh, and there is a story here too. Kind of. Beowulf takes us to the early days of a courageous and brave young hero, who already is creating legends with his victories. He comes to the aid of a kingdom who is being attacked by a local monster, one with a story far more insidious than our hero know. The love-child of the king’s “deal with the devil,” this monster must be beaten, but even as he is, Beowulf is invited to make the same compromises that this king has made. He has pursued victories in the vain pursuit of glory and honor, and here in this battle, is finally given the offer that will secure his darkest dreams.
As one of the great stories of classic literature, this is obviously an epic story worthy of epic treatment. Here is where the film encounters its more severe limitations. The nature of the animation and the 3-D experience invite us to consider the “epic” nature of this film, but the story necessarily cuts short the hero’s character arc. Some of the most interesting parts of his story, namely seeing him slowly work through the consequences for the sins of his past, is completely absent, as the tale abruptly skips over huge portions of this hero’s life. This is understandable given the cost realities of digital animation. But in choosing to do this kind of story, the film is quickly standing on the shoulders of Lord of the Rings (or merely “the Trilogy” for fantasy buffs with to little appreciation for Star Wars), a film that understood better than about any other just what “epic” really means. While it stands on those shoulders, it fails to live up the promise of contemporary fantasy epic. We’re told to expect “epic” because of the novel technology, but the story opts instead for a sound-bit approach.
Despite this criticism, Beowulf, like 300, has an interesting place in our contemporary film diet. If you want to see the big dollars thrown at special effects that are intensely engaging and fascinating, both films succeed in the payoff. You can get a great experience, you may just have to search elsewhere to find the meaning in the journey. That the moral instincts of the film are largely sound, seeing a hero bear the consequences for bad choices, just makes us look forward to the time when costs would allow them to give more time to the story.
Take it for what it is, but be careful not to make more of it than you ought.
Using that as our standard, it is worth saying that Beowulf works. The first film I have ever seen to demonstrate an actual future for 3-D technology in film, it succeeds at captivating your attention. While other attempts in the last year at 3-D have either seemed to be mostly unnecessary, adding little to an already solid work (The Nightmare Before Christmas) or gimmicky, throwing in a few “BOO!” effects to an otherwise mediocre story (Monster House), Beowulf finally demonstrates why so many filmmakers, among them James Cameron and George Lucas, have been touting 3-D as the future for blockbuster cinema. Here, the 3-D experience coupled with the high-level animation invites you into a world that is just enough like our world to be familiar, but different enough to keep us watching. When the gimmick effects come, and yes they do throw a few things at you in this one, they seem to just fit better to the grand-scale of the epic. Whether this is the “future of the filmmaking” is beyond me, but this film convinces me that we will be seeing more of this, and with good promise.
Oh, and there is a story here too. Kind of. Beowulf takes us to the early days of a courageous and brave young hero, who already is creating legends with his victories. He comes to the aid of a kingdom who is being attacked by a local monster, one with a story far more insidious than our hero know. The love-child of the king’s “deal with the devil,” this monster must be beaten, but even as he is, Beowulf is invited to make the same compromises that this king has made. He has pursued victories in the vain pursuit of glory and honor, and here in this battle, is finally given the offer that will secure his darkest dreams.
As one of the great stories of classic literature, this is obviously an epic story worthy of epic treatment. Here is where the film encounters its more severe limitations. The nature of the animation and the 3-D experience invite us to consider the “epic” nature of this film, but the story necessarily cuts short the hero’s character arc. Some of the most interesting parts of his story, namely seeing him slowly work through the consequences for the sins of his past, is completely absent, as the tale abruptly skips over huge portions of this hero’s life. This is understandable given the cost realities of digital animation. But in choosing to do this kind of story, the film is quickly standing on the shoulders of Lord of the Rings (or merely “the Trilogy” for fantasy buffs with to little appreciation for Star Wars), a film that understood better than about any other just what “epic” really means. While it stands on those shoulders, it fails to live up the promise of contemporary fantasy epic. We’re told to expect “epic” because of the novel technology, but the story opts instead for a sound-bit approach.
Despite this criticism, Beowulf, like 300, has an interesting place in our contemporary film diet. If you want to see the big dollars thrown at special effects that are intensely engaging and fascinating, both films succeed in the payoff. You can get a great experience, you may just have to search elsewhere to find the meaning in the journey. That the moral instincts of the film are largely sound, seeing a hero bear the consequences for bad choices, just makes us look forward to the time when costs would allow them to give more time to the story.
Take it for what it is, but be careful not to make more of it than you ought.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
American Gangster: A Review
I think American Gangster is a film that wants you to feel conflicted. On the one hand, it is a difficult film to like. In it, you watch the ascendancy of Frank Lucas, a North Carolina native turned Harlem criminal who rose from obscurity to captain New York’s heroin empire in the late days of the Vietnam war. In watching this ascendancy, we watch a man who succeeds by force of a fierce personality who can boldly gun a rival down in the middle of the street surrounded by witnesses. He had a business acumen that exhibited itself in a remarkable creativity that allowed him to deliver a purer product to the streets for half the cost, destroying the profitability of the rival (mostly Italian) gangs. This allowed him to succeed at a dark and seedy game which produced wealth as it destroyed the lives of those who consumed its products and their friends and family.
At the same time as we watch this climb to success, we have to see the lives of those who are tasked to bring him down. Law enforcement personnel that were involved in these events have threatened lawsuits over the film, and I can certainly understand why. The law enforcement of this film are universally repulsive, embracing a culture of kickbacks and corruption and showing open revulsion at anyone within their ranks that might show signs of integrity or character. The threats of lawsuits of course depend much on the veracity of these assertions, but I know I certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with the law enforcement of this film.
On the other hand, American Gangster is a difficult film to hate. Combining the strong direction of Ridley Scott and the exceptional acting of Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington, we are seeing masters of their craft take us through this journey. Lucas’ rise to success is as captivating as it is challenging. We are drawn into the world of early-70’s Harlem in a vivid way, and for what it is, it is a great ride. Beyond the excellence of the filmmaking, the story itself takes decidedly unconventional turns, turns that for my money work well to complement a difficult story. It begins with a decidedly Hollywood interpretation of the world, with Crowe playing the fiercely heroic Richie Roberts who, despite a mess of a personal life, is devoted to the cause of justice and determined to find the bad guys both within the police ranks and out on the street. This idealism leads him down a tangled journey until he stumbles on the rising star of Frank Lucas. While the film could have ended with the obligatory capture of Lucas, it doesn’t, and as it does, it invites into a much more complex picture of the characters and the story.
Among the criticism the film has received, some of the most fascinating has come from black film critics. While overall the reception has been very strong, there are a large number of black critics that have been especially dismissive of the film. Arguing that the film paints Frank Lucas and his lifestyle in too positive a light, some worry about its impact, as impressionable young men see the film and aspire to emulate Lucas’ success. They worry that Lucas will now become the hero of a new generation of criminals.
Their concerns are not without base. The Frank Lucas of American Gangster is a remarkably charming person. The casting alone can tell you that, as you’d struggle to find more than a handful of names with more charisma in Hollywood that Denzel. In Lucas’ story, you see a rags to riches that is built on hard work and innovation, and at times the consequences of this climb, or the horrific social cost that it is built on, seems to get only subtle allusions. In that, one might conclude that Scott is simply being irresponsible with his material, playing to our base emotions in providing us with a sadistic success story.
On the other hand, I am persuaded that Scott’s portrait is much more complex, and may simply reflect the reality of the story. After seeing the movie, I read several interviews with Frank Lucas and with people who knew him. It was an eerie portrait, as I encountered time and again the testimonies of people who had direct knowledge of his crime, even some who prosecuted him (including Richie Roberts himself) and men that sat on the bench for his cases who proclaim their affection for him. If Denzel offers the portrait of an evil man who is hauntingly charming, it seems that he is only reflecting the person he is trying to depict.
That Scott allows this portrait to emerge about Lucas strikes me as an important choice that elevates the film and its commentary. It would be easy for us to dismiss a Frank Lucas, whose rise to power is so despicable and whose “industry” is so clearly evil. But his rise, a climb to power that saw him rubbing elbows with leaders in entertainment and politics, was not done despite his personality, but often because of it. Indeed, the real portrait of evil itself is not unattractive, but in truth it is the attractions of evil that make it so alluring. If we are to be real about the truth of sin and evil in our lives, we would understand that temptation exists precisely because it is tempting.
American Gangster challenges us to consider the nature of evil in our own lives and the reality of temptation. We might look at Lucas’ rise to power and find his temptations easy to resist, but as we are drawn into his life, we are forced to recognize that we have our own temptations that seduce and call to us as well. We are not immune.
At the same time as we watch this climb to success, we have to see the lives of those who are tasked to bring him down. Law enforcement personnel that were involved in these events have threatened lawsuits over the film, and I can certainly understand why. The law enforcement of this film are universally repulsive, embracing a culture of kickbacks and corruption and showing open revulsion at anyone within their ranks that might show signs of integrity or character. The threats of lawsuits of course depend much on the veracity of these assertions, but I know I certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with the law enforcement of this film.
On the other hand, American Gangster is a difficult film to hate. Combining the strong direction of Ridley Scott and the exceptional acting of Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington, we are seeing masters of their craft take us through this journey. Lucas’ rise to success is as captivating as it is challenging. We are drawn into the world of early-70’s Harlem in a vivid way, and for what it is, it is a great ride. Beyond the excellence of the filmmaking, the story itself takes decidedly unconventional turns, turns that for my money work well to complement a difficult story. It begins with a decidedly Hollywood interpretation of the world, with Crowe playing the fiercely heroic Richie Roberts who, despite a mess of a personal life, is devoted to the cause of justice and determined to find the bad guys both within the police ranks and out on the street. This idealism leads him down a tangled journey until he stumbles on the rising star of Frank Lucas. While the film could have ended with the obligatory capture of Lucas, it doesn’t, and as it does, it invites into a much more complex picture of the characters and the story.
Among the criticism the film has received, some of the most fascinating has come from black film critics. While overall the reception has been very strong, there are a large number of black critics that have been especially dismissive of the film. Arguing that the film paints Frank Lucas and his lifestyle in too positive a light, some worry about its impact, as impressionable young men see the film and aspire to emulate Lucas’ success. They worry that Lucas will now become the hero of a new generation of criminals.
Their concerns are not without base. The Frank Lucas of American Gangster is a remarkably charming person. The casting alone can tell you that, as you’d struggle to find more than a handful of names with more charisma in Hollywood that Denzel. In Lucas’ story, you see a rags to riches that is built on hard work and innovation, and at times the consequences of this climb, or the horrific social cost that it is built on, seems to get only subtle allusions. In that, one might conclude that Scott is simply being irresponsible with his material, playing to our base emotions in providing us with a sadistic success story.
On the other hand, I am persuaded that Scott’s portrait is much more complex, and may simply reflect the reality of the story. After seeing the movie, I read several interviews with Frank Lucas and with people who knew him. It was an eerie portrait, as I encountered time and again the testimonies of people who had direct knowledge of his crime, even some who prosecuted him (including Richie Roberts himself) and men that sat on the bench for his cases who proclaim their affection for him. If Denzel offers the portrait of an evil man who is hauntingly charming, it seems that he is only reflecting the person he is trying to depict.
That Scott allows this portrait to emerge about Lucas strikes me as an important choice that elevates the film and its commentary. It would be easy for us to dismiss a Frank Lucas, whose rise to power is so despicable and whose “industry” is so clearly evil. But his rise, a climb to power that saw him rubbing elbows with leaders in entertainment and politics, was not done despite his personality, but often because of it. Indeed, the real portrait of evil itself is not unattractive, but in truth it is the attractions of evil that make it so alluring. If we are to be real about the truth of sin and evil in our lives, we would understand that temptation exists precisely because it is tempting.
American Gangster challenges us to consider the nature of evil in our own lives and the reality of temptation. We might look at Lucas’ rise to power and find his temptations easy to resist, but as we are drawn into his life, we are forced to recognize that we have our own temptations that seduce and call to us as well. We are not immune.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Gone, Baby, Gone: A Review
Gone, Baby, Gone welcomes us into the world of South Boston. It’s a world that seems to ooze with character. The Departed, Mystic River, and Good Will Hunting are just a few of the recent efforts to take us into this world, and Gone is a worthy successor to these solid films. I have mixed feelings about Ben Affleck as an actor, but he seems at least to have a future on the other side of the camera.
The film opens with the media circus already in a frenzy. A girl is missing, the mother is frightened, and the police are scouring the community looking for any possible leads. The problem is that this is the kind of neighborhood where not everybody talks to the police, and so the child’s aunt decides to hire Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennarro, two locals that have a small PI operation, to assist the police in the investigation. Reluctant at first, both agree, and being to turn over rocks in their neighborhood to see what they can find.
I found Gone’s setup a bit challenging to get through. Ultimately, Casey Affleck won me over with his solid performance, but at the outset, I couldn’t believe he was doing PI work. He actually was playing his true age, 31 at the time, but like Matt Damon, has such a young face it was hard to see him in the role. Moving through this distraction, though, the film quickly establishes why Kenzie would be an interesting hire for a desperate family. He knows the neighborhood, and knows its underbelly and the people that inhabit it.
Kenzie’s work leads him to work with Detective Remy Bressant and his partner. Bressant, played by Ed Harris, is a Louisiana native who has a lot of years in the neighborhood. Kenzie quickly wins over Bressant’s trust, showing his knowledge of the street that provides leads Bressant had no chance to drum up. Through Kenzie’s legwork, their work takes them into the depths of the local drug culture, as it becomes increasingly clear that Amanda, the missing girl, has been the victim of a drug deal gone bad.
The film does a very capable job of exploring the world of the media circus. At least since Al Pacino’s amazing performance in Dog Day Afternoon in 1975, the world of film has had many voices exploring the drive of the media to manipulate “human interest” stories to serve their own marketing ends. Here, the media creates the story of the desperate mother, victim of a cruel world, who only wants to be reunited with her child. The story is a myth, and we are forced to contend with the cruelty that lies beneath that surface, and the fiction of the public face. The media’s need to paint in broad brushstrokes, searching for clear heroes and villains, fails to comport with the real world.
This reflection on the media is an excellent setup for the moral center of the film. Ultimately, the plot brings us to a place where Kenzie is forced to contend with moral choices in a morally ambiguous world. While the plot itself may be a bit convoluted, the payoff is worth the suspension of disbelief, as the film refuses to let us off the hook. We want moral clarity and we want moral choices to receive their rewards. Gone won’t let us go there. To the extent we think the choices are clear, the more the film makes us see the price they pay for those choices. Left with a wrong choice that could produce right results and a right choice that will produce wrong results, we are left to wonder which is the right way to go.
I expect we will rarely be presented with the choices that have this kind of clarity in life, but the moral universe this film inhabits is nonetheless very much our own. We are surrounded by systems that are broken, that reward poor ethics and punish good behavior. Christians enter those systems with a worldview that calls us to a different kind of living. Standing against the brutish pragmatism that calls us to compromise, the Biblical call is to a kind of fierce commitment to kingdom living that is unwavering even when the price is high.
As vivid as this call may be in Scripture, it is a call that still exists in a real world where the consequences will be vividly felt. Gone, Baby, Gone invites us to feel in vivid terms the reality of our broken world, and challenges to remain unsettled regardless of our convictions. That is not a bad corrective to have before us regardless of the decisions that we are wrestling with.
The film opens with the media circus already in a frenzy. A girl is missing, the mother is frightened, and the police are scouring the community looking for any possible leads. The problem is that this is the kind of neighborhood where not everybody talks to the police, and so the child’s aunt decides to hire Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennarro, two locals that have a small PI operation, to assist the police in the investigation. Reluctant at first, both agree, and being to turn over rocks in their neighborhood to see what they can find.
I found Gone’s setup a bit challenging to get through. Ultimately, Casey Affleck won me over with his solid performance, but at the outset, I couldn’t believe he was doing PI work. He actually was playing his true age, 31 at the time, but like Matt Damon, has such a young face it was hard to see him in the role. Moving through this distraction, though, the film quickly establishes why Kenzie would be an interesting hire for a desperate family. He knows the neighborhood, and knows its underbelly and the people that inhabit it.
Kenzie’s work leads him to work with Detective Remy Bressant and his partner. Bressant, played by Ed Harris, is a Louisiana native who has a lot of years in the neighborhood. Kenzie quickly wins over Bressant’s trust, showing his knowledge of the street that provides leads Bressant had no chance to drum up. Through Kenzie’s legwork, their work takes them into the depths of the local drug culture, as it becomes increasingly clear that Amanda, the missing girl, has been the victim of a drug deal gone bad.
The film does a very capable job of exploring the world of the media circus. At least since Al Pacino’s amazing performance in Dog Day Afternoon in 1975, the world of film has had many voices exploring the drive of the media to manipulate “human interest” stories to serve their own marketing ends. Here, the media creates the story of the desperate mother, victim of a cruel world, who only wants to be reunited with her child. The story is a myth, and we are forced to contend with the cruelty that lies beneath that surface, and the fiction of the public face. The media’s need to paint in broad brushstrokes, searching for clear heroes and villains, fails to comport with the real world.
This reflection on the media is an excellent setup for the moral center of the film. Ultimately, the plot brings us to a place where Kenzie is forced to contend with moral choices in a morally ambiguous world. While the plot itself may be a bit convoluted, the payoff is worth the suspension of disbelief, as the film refuses to let us off the hook. We want moral clarity and we want moral choices to receive their rewards. Gone won’t let us go there. To the extent we think the choices are clear, the more the film makes us see the price they pay for those choices. Left with a wrong choice that could produce right results and a right choice that will produce wrong results, we are left to wonder which is the right way to go.
I expect we will rarely be presented with the choices that have this kind of clarity in life, but the moral universe this film inhabits is nonetheless very much our own. We are surrounded by systems that are broken, that reward poor ethics and punish good behavior. Christians enter those systems with a worldview that calls us to a different kind of living. Standing against the brutish pragmatism that calls us to compromise, the Biblical call is to a kind of fierce commitment to kingdom living that is unwavering even when the price is high.
As vivid as this call may be in Scripture, it is a call that still exists in a real world where the consequences will be vividly felt. Gone, Baby, Gone invites us to feel in vivid terms the reality of our broken world, and challenges to remain unsettled regardless of our convictions. That is not a bad corrective to have before us regardless of the decisions that we are wrestling with.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Michael Clayton: A Review
In law school, it was a story told so frequently it was easy comedy. A fresh-faced One L (first-year student) would enter law school with wide-eyed dreams of fighting for justice, whether that be by keeping criminals off the streets, keeping those same criminals on the streets by fighting the inequities and injustice in the system, or by fighting for some other cause of the neglected and downtrodden.
Then came the second year. In the fall, when the interview season would open up for second-year summer internships, those same crusaders would be seen wearing their finest suits giving the firms with the long and impressive string of names a try. By the end of the third year, they were already researching the lease costs on their new car, planning their vacation and condo rental, and getting ready for their full dive into the world of the big firm.
This kind of path isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Michael Clayton invites us to explore the compromises that come into the play in this somewhat ordinary legal journey. The directorial debut for Tony Gilroy, the screenwriter for such strong scripts as the Bourne series and The Devil’s Advocate, another excellent film about the big time law firms, Clayton is a fascinating study of compromise in its late stages. George Clooney plays the title character, a man pushing 50 who traded in a career as a prosecutor for a role as a special counsel for one of the giant firms in New York. He is the firm’s “fixer,” the guy who cleans up the messes that the extremely wealthy and powerful clients of the firm find themselves in.
One of Clayton’s “fixer” projects was Arthur Edens, played by Tom Wilkinson, who is one of the partners at his law firm. Edens is a brilliant litigator and fierce fighter, but has struggled with mental illness throughout his life. Though the illness has been controlled through medication, it fell to Clayton years ago to get him straightened out when he had fallen off the wagon and threatened his career and the firm’s viability. Now, years later, Edens has gotten himself into trouble again.
Edens has been pouring himself into a single case. His client is an international agricultural products company and is facing a multi-billion dollar class action suit for allegedly introducing some kind of chemical into the water supply that has killed or injured a number of people. In the middle of a deposition of one of the plaintiffs, Edens goes off the deep end, and strips naked and runs through the building screaming.
In trying to help Edens out, Clayton is brought into a case that quickly puts on him a crises of conscience. Already struggling with personal failures, Clayton finds his firm defending the bad guy here, and he quickly becomes aware that there is much at stake in this battle. The company’s general counsel, played by Tilda Swinton, is fierce in her desire to defend the company and, perhaps more importantly, defend her boss. In the midst of his madness, Edens has discovered the fateful memo, the single document that shows that the company knew of the chemical’s risks, and signed off on the distribution based on their own cost-benefit analysis.
The film does a fantastic job of setting the stage for our entry into this life. Clayton’s world is a ruthless and vicious world, where lives are bought and sold in the name of self-interest and survival. Clayton, struggling with his own sense of disappointment in his life, seems to come at the case with a dawning realization of the price he has paid for the life he has lived. When he tries to raise some of these questions to his boss and mentor, he is pushed aside, with a reminder that he has always known how “we pay the light bills around here.”
The film poses more questions then answers. Clayton is essentially trapped within a system for which there is no answer. Even though he knows the truth, it is not as if he can simply come forward and betray his client. To do so, he would subject himself to disbarment and his firm to a bankrupting claim of malpractice. The film opts for some stereotypical Hollywood pyrotechnics to wind its way out of this mess. That’s all well and good, but it simply drives home how difficult the questions of real life become.
As an attorney, I represented some clients I found fairly distasteful. I wasn’t always sure I like the side that I represented. I rarely like the outcomes the cases had. My own wrestling in this world, a wrestling that led me first into public service and eventually into ministry, was a desire to live a life of meaning. In my own wrestling, I would often reach the end of my cases, look at the resolution, and say, “Is this it?” Hollywood rules dictates that Michael Clayton does something to solve the problem, but the real life version of this story may realistically involve nothing more than Michael Clayton finding the strength to walk away, knowing that some problems really can’t be solved.
In one of the more interesting scenes in the film, Edens recounts how many billable hours he had put into this case. As he toys around with the numbers, he winds up proclaiming that he had spent 12% of his life on this case. Edens is driving himself insane as he realizes he has wasted that much of his life in a worthless venture. It is the sadness of wasted time, the sadness of a wasted life.
The power of the Michael Clayton is in the call to count the cost. Perhaps the work we do will not take us down as dark of corridors as we see here, but the opportunity to compromise is still a daily pressure. Michael Clayton makes the bold proposition that many of those compromises aren’t that mysterious, and that many times we walk into these traps with our eyes wide open. Whether the seduction is money, or power, or security, or ego, the temptations only expose the darkness in our souls and our willingness to trade meaningful lives for meaningless enticements.
“What does it profit a man, if he gains the world, but loses his own soul?”
Then came the second year. In the fall, when the interview season would open up for second-year summer internships, those same crusaders would be seen wearing their finest suits giving the firms with the long and impressive string of names a try. By the end of the third year, they were already researching the lease costs on their new car, planning their vacation and condo rental, and getting ready for their full dive into the world of the big firm.
This kind of path isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Michael Clayton invites us to explore the compromises that come into the play in this somewhat ordinary legal journey. The directorial debut for Tony Gilroy, the screenwriter for such strong scripts as the Bourne series and The Devil’s Advocate, another excellent film about the big time law firms, Clayton is a fascinating study of compromise in its late stages. George Clooney plays the title character, a man pushing 50 who traded in a career as a prosecutor for a role as a special counsel for one of the giant firms in New York. He is the firm’s “fixer,” the guy who cleans up the messes that the extremely wealthy and powerful clients of the firm find themselves in.
One of Clayton’s “fixer” projects was Arthur Edens, played by Tom Wilkinson, who is one of the partners at his law firm. Edens is a brilliant litigator and fierce fighter, but has struggled with mental illness throughout his life. Though the illness has been controlled through medication, it fell to Clayton years ago to get him straightened out when he had fallen off the wagon and threatened his career and the firm’s viability. Now, years later, Edens has gotten himself into trouble again.
Edens has been pouring himself into a single case. His client is an international agricultural products company and is facing a multi-billion dollar class action suit for allegedly introducing some kind of chemical into the water supply that has killed or injured a number of people. In the middle of a deposition of one of the plaintiffs, Edens goes off the deep end, and strips naked and runs through the building screaming.
In trying to help Edens out, Clayton is brought into a case that quickly puts on him a crises of conscience. Already struggling with personal failures, Clayton finds his firm defending the bad guy here, and he quickly becomes aware that there is much at stake in this battle. The company’s general counsel, played by Tilda Swinton, is fierce in her desire to defend the company and, perhaps more importantly, defend her boss. In the midst of his madness, Edens has discovered the fateful memo, the single document that shows that the company knew of the chemical’s risks, and signed off on the distribution based on their own cost-benefit analysis.
The film does a fantastic job of setting the stage for our entry into this life. Clayton’s world is a ruthless and vicious world, where lives are bought and sold in the name of self-interest and survival. Clayton, struggling with his own sense of disappointment in his life, seems to come at the case with a dawning realization of the price he has paid for the life he has lived. When he tries to raise some of these questions to his boss and mentor, he is pushed aside, with a reminder that he has always known how “we pay the light bills around here.”
The film poses more questions then answers. Clayton is essentially trapped within a system for which there is no answer. Even though he knows the truth, it is not as if he can simply come forward and betray his client. To do so, he would subject himself to disbarment and his firm to a bankrupting claim of malpractice. The film opts for some stereotypical Hollywood pyrotechnics to wind its way out of this mess. That’s all well and good, but it simply drives home how difficult the questions of real life become.
As an attorney, I represented some clients I found fairly distasteful. I wasn’t always sure I like the side that I represented. I rarely like the outcomes the cases had. My own wrestling in this world, a wrestling that led me first into public service and eventually into ministry, was a desire to live a life of meaning. In my own wrestling, I would often reach the end of my cases, look at the resolution, and say, “Is this it?” Hollywood rules dictates that Michael Clayton does something to solve the problem, but the real life version of this story may realistically involve nothing more than Michael Clayton finding the strength to walk away, knowing that some problems really can’t be solved.
In one of the more interesting scenes in the film, Edens recounts how many billable hours he had put into this case. As he toys around with the numbers, he winds up proclaiming that he had spent 12% of his life on this case. Edens is driving himself insane as he realizes he has wasted that much of his life in a worthless venture. It is the sadness of wasted time, the sadness of a wasted life.
The power of the Michael Clayton is in the call to count the cost. Perhaps the work we do will not take us down as dark of corridors as we see here, but the opportunity to compromise is still a daily pressure. Michael Clayton makes the bold proposition that many of those compromises aren’t that mysterious, and that many times we walk into these traps with our eyes wide open. Whether the seduction is money, or power, or security, or ego, the temptations only expose the darkness in our souls and our willingness to trade meaningful lives for meaningless enticements.
“What does it profit a man, if he gains the world, but loses his own soul?”
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