Seeing Superbad reminded me of many conversations with Steve Mackler. Steve was a foul-mouthed guy who was a year-older than me in school. I was on the debate squad, he did humorous interpretation, and so we had many weekends around each other at speech competitions. Steve had a knack for making the conservatives blush with his raw and frank sense of humor. He was also easily one of the funniest people I have ever known, with the ability to bring me to tears with his quips.
Jonah Hill is Superbad’s Steve, a foul-mouthed and horny high-school senior named Seth. Already dealing with the sad reality that he and his best friend, played by Michael Cara (to the delight of Arrested Development fans everywhere) will be graduating and heading to separate colleges in the fall, he is fairly myopic in his concerns. He doesn’t want to graduate from high school a virgin. He wants sex, and he wants it tonight.
What follows is a buddy comedy standing in a fairly deep tradition of similar comedies over the last 30 years or so. This one, coming from the same folks that brought us Knocked Up earlier this summer, is a good one, and in good I mean that it is extremely funny if you can handle that kind of humor. Seth Rogan and Judd Apatow have given us The 40-Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up, and Superbad, and in all cases my wife has reminded me that she’s not sure she wants to admit to anyone that she’s actually seen them. That’s OK, I caught her laughing.
To accomplish his mission, Seth commits at school to providing alcohol to a party that night. The party is hosted by the girl that he’s after, and Cara’s Evan finds out that his interest is heading there, and so their adventure must take them into the liquor store. They find a friend, Fogell, with a newly minted fake ID, and so they set out on their trail. The trailers give some of the zaniness away, but to spare you, I’ll suffice it to say that Fogell, or should I say “McLovin” winds up riding around with the strangest pair of cops since Reno 911, Seth winds up way over his head in a death match at another party, and Evan bumbles his way through much before they get back together. Their quest is not easy.
Admittedly, the nature of the comedy makes this a difficult movie to recommend blindly. I have friends that I know would enjoy it, and I have friends that I know wouldn’t. Either way, there are several things about the film that interest me. First, I wondered as I reflected on the movie whether it should be required viewing for parents of teenagers. I expect many of them would be shocked and horrified at the way in which sexual topics are explored, but my sense is that it is much closer to the reality of what teenagers are being exposed to than what parents assume their kids know. The film takes for granted the widespread access to sexual information that is a basic reality for many teenagers in our wired world.
Second, like Virgin and Knocked Up, the film takes a surprisingly conservative turn by the end. This genre, probably set in motion most by Animal House, has a knack for being a sustained celebration of sexual liberation in all its forms. This film isn’t. The path to freedom for these guys, mainly getting their objects of lust drunk so that they can conquer them, is a hollow dream, and by the end they seem to recognize that. Despite having a shocking amount of knowledge about sex acts and the female anatomy, they have very little wisdom about relationships, love, and the rich meaning of sexuality. This divide between wisdom and knowledge seems very prescient in our culture.
In the end, the movie is more a celebration of male friendship. Their friendship is what they understand most deeply and is what means the most. They still have sex on the brain, but in their more sane moments, they seem to recognize that their pursuit of alcohol and sex are mere distractors or coping mechanisms. The characters are pretty bankrupt in their pursuits, but they aren’t without hope. I think the success of the film and of these filmmakers in this brand of comedy is that they are drawing up imminently relatable people. We too often find ourselves bankrupt in our pursuits, but hope that there is something deeper, something more substantive that might pull us through.
Of course, it may be that Apatow and Rogan are just throwing in the heart in these films to justify a whole string of racy jokes and seedy adventures. I don’t think so, but even if it is, then they have just backed their way into something more substantive than they might expect. The deeper strain of these characters, from this and their other films, are strains that I can live with. There are certainly worse places from which to start a conversation.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
The Bourne Ultimatum: A Review
The Bourne Ultimatum is about responsibility. Sharing the spot with Ratatouille for the best reviewed mainstream film of the summer, it comes to us as one of the final “Part Three” films that seems to have defined the summer blockbuster lineup. Among those, it is undoubtedly the best of the lot.
The Bourne Identity introduced the movie-going public to Robert Ludlum’s much loved character Jason Bourne. We met Bourne at the end of an accident that left him with amnesia. Knowing nothing of his past, we slowly learned along with him that he had been a part of a CIA operation that trained the world’s greatest assassins and set them about performing some of the most seditious missions the government ever denied involvement in. As the mysteries surrounding his amnesia and the accident that produced it came to light, he became a hunted man by the very people who had trained him to be the killer that he is. In The Bourne Supremacy, Jason was thrust back into the espionage world by those within the system who sought to use his name to cover their own dark secrets. Where Identity was a journey of discovery, Supremacy was a journey that had a mixed bag of revenge and repentance, as Bourne was finding out more about his past and finding more to dislike about those discoveries.
In Ultimatum, the movie cleverly weaves its way into the final moments of Supremacy, taking us to a Bourne who is still on the run, still trying to discover more about his past as he is trying to stay ahead of the very people who have those answers. While Identity gave us Chris Cooper as a superb foil and Supremacy gave us Brian Cox as Cooper’s sleazy boss and Joan Allen as the virtuous agent who contends for truth, Ultimatum brings us David Straitharn as the exceptional leader who needs Bourne eliminated. As with Cooper and Cox, Straitharn gives us an agent who has little to redeem himself, who is an “avowed patriot” who seems to profit well from his patriotism. The villains of the Bourne films are enjoyable to watch because they have been played by such fine actors, but they are not ambiguous figures. We know who the bad guys are, and we are clear that they are bad.
Jason’s a bit tougher to figure out. Damon does well with the emotionally-stilted character of Bourne. While early on we might have excused his coolness as a function of his amnesia, as we learn more about him we see this as a product of his training. He has no emotion because he was trained to have no emotion. He was trained to have no emotion because he can have none to do the evil things he is called upon to do.
Of course, from the first film we have seen that the problem for Bourne is that there is something in him that can’t rest with this kind of withdrawn life. He bucked the system then, and he continues to buck the system here. What is interesting about this film is how it changes our perception of the system itself. In the trilogy as a whole, the government agencies are led by people who manipulate their underlings to serve their ends, ends which are often selfish and against the larger purposes of the country. This is a corrupt system that is broken because of a leadership that has no virtue (no political commentary there, I’m sure). Bourne is pitted as a hero who is standing against that system.
Here, though, the system is not entirely to blame for Bourne’s predicament. In a plot development worthy of the actor they use to develop it, we see in new ways how Bourne is what he is because Bourne wanted to be that way. While he was used by the system, it is harder to see that he was simply shaped by the system. The battle in Bourne’s life has not been man verses system, but man verses himself. He has a darkness within, and it is this darkness that is his greatest enemy.
While these ideas emerge from the film, it is worth mentioning that the pacing of the film makes them elusive. This is kinetic and energetic film making, with action sequences that at times border on the incomprehensible due to their fast pace. The great reviews for the film are probably evidence of the emotional excitement that this style of filmmaking produces. It is a fascinating combination of modern technique interpreting a very classic human drama. The freshness isn’t found in the special effects (a significant exception for a summer blockbuster) but in the energy in the story. The story lives or dies on our investment in the person of Bourne (I expect that some won’t like it because they don’t like the actor Matt Damon), and our enjoyment of the film hinges significantly on our visceral experience of the action. In other words, take your potty break before you enter the theater!
The ideas in Ultimatum need development in other places. In the end, it is an action piece that I expect many will take, enjoy, and leave without reflection. The nature of the film’s pacing doesn’t really invite that kind of reflection anyway. Nonetheless, the ideas are worthy of reflection because they strike me as particularly important.
In the last few months, I’ve had to have several tough conversations with people about the issue of responsibility. For all the good that our innovations in psychology and counseling have brought us, one of the challenges it has presented has been the way it has armed people who are prone to deny personal responsibility the language with which to rationalize that denial. Instead of exploring the past with an eye towards root causation and the way that sin has impacted our desires and the choices we make, we can instead find in our search the other people or events that can take the blame from us for the mistakes that we make. The basic sadness that I have seen in these situations is how it has fundamentally denied the ability to heal. We heal when we can acknowledge responsibility for that which we can and grow through the mistakes, not when we can lay the responsibility at other’s feet.
Bourne is a character with hope precisely because he is a character who seems to be trying to take that responsibility where he can. The films are not mere diatribes against the “system,” but instead a study of a life who is bearing the fruit from the seed that he has planted. Acknowledging that core responsibility, even in the backdrop of a complex system that manipulates and uses those bad choices and bad desires, is itself a significant statement in our contemporary culture.
The Bourne Identity introduced the movie-going public to Robert Ludlum’s much loved character Jason Bourne. We met Bourne at the end of an accident that left him with amnesia. Knowing nothing of his past, we slowly learned along with him that he had been a part of a CIA operation that trained the world’s greatest assassins and set them about performing some of the most seditious missions the government ever denied involvement in. As the mysteries surrounding his amnesia and the accident that produced it came to light, he became a hunted man by the very people who had trained him to be the killer that he is. In The Bourne Supremacy, Jason was thrust back into the espionage world by those within the system who sought to use his name to cover their own dark secrets. Where Identity was a journey of discovery, Supremacy was a journey that had a mixed bag of revenge and repentance, as Bourne was finding out more about his past and finding more to dislike about those discoveries.
In Ultimatum, the movie cleverly weaves its way into the final moments of Supremacy, taking us to a Bourne who is still on the run, still trying to discover more about his past as he is trying to stay ahead of the very people who have those answers. While Identity gave us Chris Cooper as a superb foil and Supremacy gave us Brian Cox as Cooper’s sleazy boss and Joan Allen as the virtuous agent who contends for truth, Ultimatum brings us David Straitharn as the exceptional leader who needs Bourne eliminated. As with Cooper and Cox, Straitharn gives us an agent who has little to redeem himself, who is an “avowed patriot” who seems to profit well from his patriotism. The villains of the Bourne films are enjoyable to watch because they have been played by such fine actors, but they are not ambiguous figures. We know who the bad guys are, and we are clear that they are bad.
Jason’s a bit tougher to figure out. Damon does well with the emotionally-stilted character of Bourne. While early on we might have excused his coolness as a function of his amnesia, as we learn more about him we see this as a product of his training. He has no emotion because he was trained to have no emotion. He was trained to have no emotion because he can have none to do the evil things he is called upon to do.
Of course, from the first film we have seen that the problem for Bourne is that there is something in him that can’t rest with this kind of withdrawn life. He bucked the system then, and he continues to buck the system here. What is interesting about this film is how it changes our perception of the system itself. In the trilogy as a whole, the government agencies are led by people who manipulate their underlings to serve their ends, ends which are often selfish and against the larger purposes of the country. This is a corrupt system that is broken because of a leadership that has no virtue (no political commentary there, I’m sure). Bourne is pitted as a hero who is standing against that system.
Here, though, the system is not entirely to blame for Bourne’s predicament. In a plot development worthy of the actor they use to develop it, we see in new ways how Bourne is what he is because Bourne wanted to be that way. While he was used by the system, it is harder to see that he was simply shaped by the system. The battle in Bourne’s life has not been man verses system, but man verses himself. He has a darkness within, and it is this darkness that is his greatest enemy.
While these ideas emerge from the film, it is worth mentioning that the pacing of the film makes them elusive. This is kinetic and energetic film making, with action sequences that at times border on the incomprehensible due to their fast pace. The great reviews for the film are probably evidence of the emotional excitement that this style of filmmaking produces. It is a fascinating combination of modern technique interpreting a very classic human drama. The freshness isn’t found in the special effects (a significant exception for a summer blockbuster) but in the energy in the story. The story lives or dies on our investment in the person of Bourne (I expect that some won’t like it because they don’t like the actor Matt Damon), and our enjoyment of the film hinges significantly on our visceral experience of the action. In other words, take your potty break before you enter the theater!
The ideas in Ultimatum need development in other places. In the end, it is an action piece that I expect many will take, enjoy, and leave without reflection. The nature of the film’s pacing doesn’t really invite that kind of reflection anyway. Nonetheless, the ideas are worthy of reflection because they strike me as particularly important.
In the last few months, I’ve had to have several tough conversations with people about the issue of responsibility. For all the good that our innovations in psychology and counseling have brought us, one of the challenges it has presented has been the way it has armed people who are prone to deny personal responsibility the language with which to rationalize that denial. Instead of exploring the past with an eye towards root causation and the way that sin has impacted our desires and the choices we make, we can instead find in our search the other people or events that can take the blame from us for the mistakes that we make. The basic sadness that I have seen in these situations is how it has fundamentally denied the ability to heal. We heal when we can acknowledge responsibility for that which we can and grow through the mistakes, not when we can lay the responsibility at other’s feet.
Bourne is a character with hope precisely because he is a character who seems to be trying to take that responsibility where he can. The films are not mere diatribes against the “system,” but instead a study of a life who is bearing the fruit from the seed that he has planted. Acknowledging that core responsibility, even in the backdrop of a complex system that manipulates and uses those bad choices and bad desires, is itself a significant statement in our contemporary culture.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Live Free or Die Hard: A Review
Ah, the summer blockbuster. Given that I was only 2 when Jaws came out, I never knew a world without it. The concept has morphed over the years and lately, with fierce competition for those precious summer dollars, it has become almost a caricature of itself. Big budgets, special effects and heavy action are supposed to draw us into the seats for an experience that can’t be replicated on our small screens. Unfortunately, of course, this has too often also meant a persistent recycling of old ideas, a neglect of story and character, and a pandering to the lowest common denominator as the films strive to appeal to the widest moviegoing audience as possible. Reading film reviews, there is typically a noticeable change in tone from a lot of these folks, many of whom have long since grown cynical about the whole summer tone to movie-going.
And so we turn to Live Free or Die Hard, the latest attempt to resurrect an old franchise. The first in the series, Die Hard, generally makes my short list for the best action films ever made. It combined a tight premise and clean “rules,” something that is vital for this genre, with great action and solid acting, particularly from Alan Rickman, who gave us one of the most delightfully vicious villains in film history. After that, the franchise failed to live up to its predecessor. The second was OK, though a shadow of the first. The third was better, but still less than the first. The challenge for both of those films was their need to get broader. In the first film, Bruce Willis gave us John McClane, a New York City cop that gets caught up in a terrorist attack on an office building. Part of the film’s strength was the boundaries of the building, forcing all the action to take place in tight quarters that imposed real limits on where the characters could go and what they could do. In the later films, the work got bigger, with John saving an airport in the second, and the entire city of New York in the third. As it got bigger, the franchise lost the hold that made the first film so exceptional, and the films became simply ordinary.
With that history in mind, I entered Live Free with some trepidation. In it, John McClane, still a New York City cop, is ordered to go pick up a known computer hacker as a favor for the Feds. As he is doing so, the apartment is attacked by assassins, who are set on killing the hacker. John rescues him, leaving him is as the only survivor of a simultaneous effort that killed a number of hackers. This is but one part of a larger mystery, as we see these same villains begin to infiltrate computers around the country, taking control of traffic signals in D.C. only to cause simultaneous accidents around the city, then infiltrating the stock exchange only to create a panic in the marketplace.
The film does a great job of drawing us into the emerging chaos that comes as the villains reveal their intentions. What we learn is that they are about attempting a “fire sale,” a simultaneous attack on every computer system of merit in the country, causing the entire nation to come to a grinding halt. The notion of a fire sale lies in hacker myth, but now we are seeing it unfold in reality. Of course, it’s up to John McClane to figure out how to stop it.
As I said, the franchise has kept building up the premises. It’s pretty far-fetched, but does a capable job of selling it to us. McClane is served up as an old-school fossil, an aging cop that doesn’t understand the high-tech world. The hacker, ably played by the goofy Justin Long, provides the comic contrast as well as the know-how that helps navigate the technological aspects of the battle. McClane fights to keep him alive, take out whatever bad guys he encounters, and eventually, to rescue his own daughter from the clutches of the henchman.
Live Free will have to compete with a lot of high-budget action movies this summer, but if it’s a big explosive few hours you want, you’ll do a lot worse than to check this one out. As an action piece, it certainly is the best of the franchise since the first. The villain, played by Timothy Olyphant, is no Alan Rickman, but the premise is just so broad, that it is amusing to see how they can pull it together and resolve it.
As a side note, the movie presents an interesting commentary on the ratings system. In an effort to get the adolescent movie dollars, they set out to make this the first PG-13 rated film in the franchise. They thus had to play with McClane’s signature line (“Yippee-ki-yay, mother_____”) but still pulled off an incredibly intense action experience. We’re OK with our kids being unsupervised and see government buildings and power plants blow up, helicopters and planes shot down, and a body count that was at least in the dozens, but can’t expose them to a single word referring to a sex act that unfortunately is pretty ordinary language of the street. Interesting.
Leaving the movie, I mused about the possible political commentary that lies underneath the film. Bruce Willis long carried the reputation as being one of the four Republicans in the movie business. He recently tried to distance himself from that reputation. This film involves a villain who, in his overzealous attempts to protect the country from itself brings the nation to the brink of disaster. Of course, while he is overzealously protecting the country, he also made sure he could make a tidy profit for himself and his own. Intended of not, thoughts of Halliburton and Guantanamo Bay danced in my head for awhile.
McClane is a quintessential American action hero. He is fearless and daring, inventive and bold. He is able to accomplish what the bureaucracy of the federal law enforcement, always mocked in this franchise, can’t accomplish because he is the only one that combines common sense with his heroic strength. As enjoyable as he is to watch, what interests me is how ordinary his picture of heroism is for us.
Whether its McClane, Jack Bauer, or Indiana Jones (coming next May), our heroes have a particular look and represent a value system that we are immersed in within our culture. That is all well and good, until we turn from our culture to other pictures of heroism. I think particularly of the Hebrew writer and his depiction of faithfulness in Hebrews 11. Within that story, heroism is entirely absent, but instead that which is worthy of admiration is faithfulness. In the seductive challenge to build up a story of faith, and a picture of a savior, that is so often in our own image, it is worth asking how much our pictures of heroism will alter, even corrupt, our images of faith, and particularly our image of our Savior. Left unchecked, this temptation suggests a spiritual cost that may be higher than rising ticket prices and overpriced popcorn.
And so we turn to Live Free or Die Hard, the latest attempt to resurrect an old franchise. The first in the series, Die Hard, generally makes my short list for the best action films ever made. It combined a tight premise and clean “rules,” something that is vital for this genre, with great action and solid acting, particularly from Alan Rickman, who gave us one of the most delightfully vicious villains in film history. After that, the franchise failed to live up to its predecessor. The second was OK, though a shadow of the first. The third was better, but still less than the first. The challenge for both of those films was their need to get broader. In the first film, Bruce Willis gave us John McClane, a New York City cop that gets caught up in a terrorist attack on an office building. Part of the film’s strength was the boundaries of the building, forcing all the action to take place in tight quarters that imposed real limits on where the characters could go and what they could do. In the later films, the work got bigger, with John saving an airport in the second, and the entire city of New York in the third. As it got bigger, the franchise lost the hold that made the first film so exceptional, and the films became simply ordinary.
With that history in mind, I entered Live Free with some trepidation. In it, John McClane, still a New York City cop, is ordered to go pick up a known computer hacker as a favor for the Feds. As he is doing so, the apartment is attacked by assassins, who are set on killing the hacker. John rescues him, leaving him is as the only survivor of a simultaneous effort that killed a number of hackers. This is but one part of a larger mystery, as we see these same villains begin to infiltrate computers around the country, taking control of traffic signals in D.C. only to cause simultaneous accidents around the city, then infiltrating the stock exchange only to create a panic in the marketplace.
The film does a great job of drawing us into the emerging chaos that comes as the villains reveal their intentions. What we learn is that they are about attempting a “fire sale,” a simultaneous attack on every computer system of merit in the country, causing the entire nation to come to a grinding halt. The notion of a fire sale lies in hacker myth, but now we are seeing it unfold in reality. Of course, it’s up to John McClane to figure out how to stop it.
As I said, the franchise has kept building up the premises. It’s pretty far-fetched, but does a capable job of selling it to us. McClane is served up as an old-school fossil, an aging cop that doesn’t understand the high-tech world. The hacker, ably played by the goofy Justin Long, provides the comic contrast as well as the know-how that helps navigate the technological aspects of the battle. McClane fights to keep him alive, take out whatever bad guys he encounters, and eventually, to rescue his own daughter from the clutches of the henchman.
Live Free will have to compete with a lot of high-budget action movies this summer, but if it’s a big explosive few hours you want, you’ll do a lot worse than to check this one out. As an action piece, it certainly is the best of the franchise since the first. The villain, played by Timothy Olyphant, is no Alan Rickman, but the premise is just so broad, that it is amusing to see how they can pull it together and resolve it.
As a side note, the movie presents an interesting commentary on the ratings system. In an effort to get the adolescent movie dollars, they set out to make this the first PG-13 rated film in the franchise. They thus had to play with McClane’s signature line (“Yippee-ki-yay, mother_____”) but still pulled off an incredibly intense action experience. We’re OK with our kids being unsupervised and see government buildings and power plants blow up, helicopters and planes shot down, and a body count that was at least in the dozens, but can’t expose them to a single word referring to a sex act that unfortunately is pretty ordinary language of the street. Interesting.
Leaving the movie, I mused about the possible political commentary that lies underneath the film. Bruce Willis long carried the reputation as being one of the four Republicans in the movie business. He recently tried to distance himself from that reputation. This film involves a villain who, in his overzealous attempts to protect the country from itself brings the nation to the brink of disaster. Of course, while he is overzealously protecting the country, he also made sure he could make a tidy profit for himself and his own. Intended of not, thoughts of Halliburton and Guantanamo Bay danced in my head for awhile.
McClane is a quintessential American action hero. He is fearless and daring, inventive and bold. He is able to accomplish what the bureaucracy of the federal law enforcement, always mocked in this franchise, can’t accomplish because he is the only one that combines common sense with his heroic strength. As enjoyable as he is to watch, what interests me is how ordinary his picture of heroism is for us.
Whether its McClane, Jack Bauer, or Indiana Jones (coming next May), our heroes have a particular look and represent a value system that we are immersed in within our culture. That is all well and good, until we turn from our culture to other pictures of heroism. I think particularly of the Hebrew writer and his depiction of faithfulness in Hebrews 11. Within that story, heroism is entirely absent, but instead that which is worthy of admiration is faithfulness. In the seductive challenge to build up a story of faith, and a picture of a savior, that is so often in our own image, it is worth asking how much our pictures of heroism will alter, even corrupt, our images of faith, and particularly our image of our Savior. Left unchecked, this temptation suggests a spiritual cost that may be higher than rising ticket prices and overpriced popcorn.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Bridge to Terabithia: A Review
Spending my week on the beach last week with family, I logged many hours with my 2 and 6-year old nieces. I’m thinking now of one particular afternoon with the 2-year old, an afternoon full of adventure. We ventured to Neverland, only to find ourselves then swimming with mermaids under the sea. From one adventure to the next, for her the swimming pool and the kiddie pool next to it were constantly in a state of transformation, changing from one imaginary universe to the next. What a treat to glimpse at the world through her eyes, seeing the sparks of imagination fly as we played our games, sang our songs, and enjoyed the afternoon sun.
It was with this experience in mind that I watched Bridge to Terabithia, the adaptation of the popular children’s novel. In Terabithia, we meet Jesse, a misfit kid struggling to make life work in elementary school. His family lives outside of town, so he’s labeled a “country kid” in a city school. They’re struggling to make ends meet, and so he has to make do at times with hand-me-downs from his sisters, including the childhood horror of having to wear his sister’s sneakers with pink stripes. Fighting to fit in, we join him at the beginning on a morning run, as we see him striving to make his mark by being the fastest boy in the class. When recess comes, he sets out to prove himself, and does, beating out the competition that includes one of the class bullies. His joy is short-lived, though, as the winner of the race is Leslie, the new girl that showed up in class that morning.
Already frustrated at being beaten, and by a girl no less, he is further horrified when Leslie gets off at his bus stop, revealing that she has moved into the house next door to him. We see them struggle through the awkwardness of childhood, but in a fairly short time they begin to forge a real friendship, a friendship that is bound up in Leslie’s imagination. They venture into the woods, and there begin a time of wonderful childhood discovery.
Leslie looks upon the woods as an invitation to dream. They find a rope that crosses a stream and, ignoring the dangers, Leslie swings across and enters into a world of her own creation. She slowly draws Jesse into this world, and together they create Terabithia, an imaginary place full of mystical creatures. It is a world full of good and evil, and a place where they are constantly discovering their own magical powers as they fight for good and deepen their discovery.
As they grow in their discovery of Terabithia, their friendship also deepens. Leslie encourages Jesse to explore his talent as an artist, a gift he is embarrassed to share with others, feeling the glare of disapproval that he gets from his older sisters and especially his cool and practical father. His dad doesn’t have much place in his life for any of the wonder that Jesse is discovering through his friendship with Leslie, a sense that is a necessary component of his life as an artist. Through her he even gets the strength to speak to his music teacher, his secret crush who becomes for him a vital mentor that further sparks his imagination.
The movie at times seems to meander without purpose, but I think that even that itself is intentional. Childhood itself meanders, as the movement between the real world and the world of imagination is constantly in motion. For those, like me, who haven’t experienced the novel, we are left to wonder where we are heading with the plot, knowing only that the friendship is strengthening as they share their lives together.
Even while it moves through these quiet days, the movie gives us a number of precious images of friendship as we see these two grow up. He shares in her family’s experience in painting a room, and she goes with him to church, inviting their shared reflection on faith. This interaction was awkward but genuine, as we see children try to make sense of the mysteries of faith while still deeply entwined in the stories of their families of origin and the limitations that childhood necessarily imposes. Their reflections aren’t deep, but they are inviting nonetheless.
In truth, much of my experience of the movie fits that same phrase: awkward but genuine. I think the awkwardness stems from the film’s attempt to have us view the world as much as possible through the eyes of the children. As we see the world through their eyes, we are given a wonderful world of possibilities as the imagination is ignited. But we are also then given a limited vocabulary, as so much of the “adult world” that surrounds them involves new and strange experiences for which they have no language to process. When the movie succeeds, it does so by having us experience the same limitation of vocabulary while still giving us the experience of wonder that they know.
The movie does take a dramatic turn, and when it does it forces a confrontation between this world of imagination and wonder that Jesse has discovered and the often brutal realities of our world. What can sustain us as we make our own journey? What is left of that childhood sense of wonder?
As I reflect on the movie, I turn back to my time with my nieces over the previous week. There is an adult world that surrounds them. At times, it presses in on them and so they must glimpse realities for which they have no vocabulary and no way to process. Part of their survival will be grounded in their ability to experience the world of wonder that lies alongside those harsher realities. Indeed, that is a survival skill that will be needed even as they move further away from the years where imagination can reign supreme.
Terabithia invites us back to the kinds of worlds that Tolkien and Lewis explored with great depths in the past century. Living amidst the brutalities of our world, they invite us to remember the spiritual gift of wonder, a gift that looks at dying things and sees the life that lies beneath. They connect for us the truth that the gift that lets my niece see Neverland in the middle of the swimming pool is the seed of the gift that will let her look at the pain and hardship of life and see the Hand of God at work. The first may seem the trite wonderings of a child, but the second is indispensable.
May her Neverland never disappear.
It was with this experience in mind that I watched Bridge to Terabithia, the adaptation of the popular children’s novel. In Terabithia, we meet Jesse, a misfit kid struggling to make life work in elementary school. His family lives outside of town, so he’s labeled a “country kid” in a city school. They’re struggling to make ends meet, and so he has to make do at times with hand-me-downs from his sisters, including the childhood horror of having to wear his sister’s sneakers with pink stripes. Fighting to fit in, we join him at the beginning on a morning run, as we see him striving to make his mark by being the fastest boy in the class. When recess comes, he sets out to prove himself, and does, beating out the competition that includes one of the class bullies. His joy is short-lived, though, as the winner of the race is Leslie, the new girl that showed up in class that morning.
Already frustrated at being beaten, and by a girl no less, he is further horrified when Leslie gets off at his bus stop, revealing that she has moved into the house next door to him. We see them struggle through the awkwardness of childhood, but in a fairly short time they begin to forge a real friendship, a friendship that is bound up in Leslie’s imagination. They venture into the woods, and there begin a time of wonderful childhood discovery.
Leslie looks upon the woods as an invitation to dream. They find a rope that crosses a stream and, ignoring the dangers, Leslie swings across and enters into a world of her own creation. She slowly draws Jesse into this world, and together they create Terabithia, an imaginary place full of mystical creatures. It is a world full of good and evil, and a place where they are constantly discovering their own magical powers as they fight for good and deepen their discovery.
As they grow in their discovery of Terabithia, their friendship also deepens. Leslie encourages Jesse to explore his talent as an artist, a gift he is embarrassed to share with others, feeling the glare of disapproval that he gets from his older sisters and especially his cool and practical father. His dad doesn’t have much place in his life for any of the wonder that Jesse is discovering through his friendship with Leslie, a sense that is a necessary component of his life as an artist. Through her he even gets the strength to speak to his music teacher, his secret crush who becomes for him a vital mentor that further sparks his imagination.
The movie at times seems to meander without purpose, but I think that even that itself is intentional. Childhood itself meanders, as the movement between the real world and the world of imagination is constantly in motion. For those, like me, who haven’t experienced the novel, we are left to wonder where we are heading with the plot, knowing only that the friendship is strengthening as they share their lives together.
Even while it moves through these quiet days, the movie gives us a number of precious images of friendship as we see these two grow up. He shares in her family’s experience in painting a room, and she goes with him to church, inviting their shared reflection on faith. This interaction was awkward but genuine, as we see children try to make sense of the mysteries of faith while still deeply entwined in the stories of their families of origin and the limitations that childhood necessarily imposes. Their reflections aren’t deep, but they are inviting nonetheless.
In truth, much of my experience of the movie fits that same phrase: awkward but genuine. I think the awkwardness stems from the film’s attempt to have us view the world as much as possible through the eyes of the children. As we see the world through their eyes, we are given a wonderful world of possibilities as the imagination is ignited. But we are also then given a limited vocabulary, as so much of the “adult world” that surrounds them involves new and strange experiences for which they have no language to process. When the movie succeeds, it does so by having us experience the same limitation of vocabulary while still giving us the experience of wonder that they know.
The movie does take a dramatic turn, and when it does it forces a confrontation between this world of imagination and wonder that Jesse has discovered and the often brutal realities of our world. What can sustain us as we make our own journey? What is left of that childhood sense of wonder?
As I reflect on the movie, I turn back to my time with my nieces over the previous week. There is an adult world that surrounds them. At times, it presses in on them and so they must glimpse realities for which they have no vocabulary and no way to process. Part of their survival will be grounded in their ability to experience the world of wonder that lies alongside those harsher realities. Indeed, that is a survival skill that will be needed even as they move further away from the years where imagination can reign supreme.
Terabithia invites us back to the kinds of worlds that Tolkien and Lewis explored with great depths in the past century. Living amidst the brutalities of our world, they invite us to remember the spiritual gift of wonder, a gift that looks at dying things and sees the life that lies beneath. They connect for us the truth that the gift that lets my niece see Neverland in the middle of the swimming pool is the seed of the gift that will let her look at the pain and hardship of life and see the Hand of God at work. The first may seem the trite wonderings of a child, but the second is indispensable.
May her Neverland never disappear.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Knocked Up: A Review
Knocked Up is a difficult movie to review. In fact, I have found very few Christian critics that were willing to even offer one. That's too bad, because its $30 million opening weekend take suggests that a lot of people are seeing it. It strikes me as an excellent moment for Christians to offer their voice on that experience. Having said that, I don't know too many people that I would recommend it to, even though I thought the movie was exceptionally well done. Like Borat, the controversial "mockumentary" from last year, the movie offers an uncomfortable mix of poignant cultural observations, at times winsome and likable characters, and outrageously funny but extremely offensive comedy. While those first two features offers much for many people, I expect the brand of comedy that the movie offers severely limits its audience, particularly within conservative Christian circles.
Knocked Up stars Seth Rogan as the aptly-named Ben Stone, an aimless twenty-something who fills his days smoking pot and hanging out with his friends. Unemployed, he makes his way by stretching out the proceeds of a government settlement. The $14,000 payment has lasted him nine years and counting, so materialism isn't really his problem. He's not without his ambitions, though. He and his friends have been working on a website that will collect information about the nude scenes of famous actresses. So the productive side of his life is spent "gathering research" by watching movies that contain nudity and logging the information about each scene. An abundant life, indeed.
In contrast to Ben, we have Alison Scott, played by Katherine Heigl. Alison is a rising star on the E! Network. Having worked her way up as a production assistant, she finally gets her big break with an opportunity to appear on camera as an interviewer. Thrilled at the opportunity, she decides to go out and celebrate with her sister. At the bar, she meets Ben, who clumsily buys her a drink. With encouragement from his friends, and a little bit of "liquid courage" Ben approaches and talks with Alison. As the evening progresses, their relationship follows a familiar track, as the alcohol begins to takes over where wisdom belongs. It leads them to her place, and you could fill in the rest.
Then the morning comes. For Alison, the morning brings the awful awareness of what she has done. As she stares down at Ben in the bed, she has an understandable mix of regret and horror. For Ben, he doesn't remember much of anything, and for the next few hours they must get to know each other anew. Alison quickly realizes that she has not found "Mr. Right," and the oddness of their conversation ends with polite promises to talk again.
That talk probably never would have happened until a few months later, when Alison realizes that she is pregnant. In the days that follow, Alison walks a familiar track, as she has to grapple with the reality of the pregnancy, contact Ben and let him know, then try to make sense of what this means for her future. Ben is understandably overwhelmed by the experience, realizing very quickly that he has no idea what he is doing and that he is entirely unfit for parenthood.
While Alison begins the process of picking a doctor, trying to keep her job going without them knowing about the pregnancy, and preparing for motherhood, Ben and Alison decide to give a relationship a go. The film wisely takes its time trying to cultivate this unlikely relationship, working its way to convince us that a guy like Ben could actually have a relationship with a woman like Alison. This effort works because the filmmakers are patient enough to let their relationship move slowly and in fits and starts, as we see Ben try and fail to figure out how to grow up.
Like Director Judd Apatow's breakout hit The 40-Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up is a coming of age film for an overgrown adolescent male. In Virgin, it was Steve Carrell's shy comic book-loving bachelor trying to figure out relationships long past the point where he should have. Here, it is a loser learning about responsibilities like working and relationships in the context of unplanned fatherhood. In both cases, the movies succeed because of skilled writing and a great comedic beat and because of great casting choices, particularly in their choice of leads. Rogan's Ben is a loser, but a lovable loser, and while he is certainly unfit for a relationship and for fatherhood, his unfitness echoes the awkwardness that many of us feel when we reach these steps in life. These characters are likable because they are real, and as we laugh at them we are laughing at ourselves.
Also like Virgin, one of the things that intrigues me most about the film is the stark contrast between the comedic beat of the film and the underlying value system the movie seems to uphold. After all, in the real world, could this story ever be told? An up-and-coming career woman with no identifiable faith background has a mistaken one-night stand with a hopeless loser and winds up pregnant. With little prospects to get meaningful help through this process and with a career that would likely get derailed by having a child, how many in our culture would opt for, as Knocked Up describes it, that word that "rhymes with Shma-shmortion." Although the movie takes a moment to acknowledge her "choice" to keep the child, there is surprisingly little conflict over this. Instead, it seems from the beginning that there is instinct to keep the child, and to contend with the impacts that the child will have on her and their lives.
Alongside this choice is her immediate reaction to involve Ben in her life and her desire to cultivate a relationship, if only for the benefit of their child. Even Ben, hopeless loser that he is, feels a responsibility to act well on behalf of his child and to make things work as much as possible. He talks to his Dad, trying to seek advice about how to make things work. He stumbles on the way, but seems intent in his best moments at wanting to make things right for both Alison and his child. While I don’t want to give away the ending, I’m impressed with the way the character grew, and found myself rooting for him throughout his journey.
Although it was slow to develop, I wound up enjoying a subplot that focused on the relationship between Alison’s sister and her husband. Early in the film, the relationship seemed little more than a foil, a chance to glimpse the stereotypical negatives of marriage and commitment and offer Ben and Alison a chance to see what they needed to stay away from. As the film went on, we get to know the couple more, and especially get to enjoy the budding friendship between Ben and Pete.
As in Reign Over Me, another recent release I reviewed awhile back, the time between Ben and Pete, particularly in a quick road trip they take together late in the movie, provides opportunities for reflection on male friendship. While Ben has been spending his life around his buddies, Pete has become locked down in a marriage that leaves him little time for male companionship. In a clever parallel, as he seeks to sneak time to be with fellow “nerds” we see him acting like a man cheating on his family. As much as the movie offers reflections on family values, it is also offering some thoughts on male friendship that are worthwhile.
Knocked Up is a fascinating juxtaposition of conservative values and tasteless comedy. Its comedy serves as a language that allows the film to communicate to the college crowd and the young adult audience that should be its primarily field (keep the teens away, please). The values it communicates, though, are some that I think Christians of all ages should be largely echoing. The film’s instincts are that the unborn need protection and care, that two parents should be devoted to raising a child with love, that there is a need in our lives for real friendships, and that careers and other pressures in life are secondary next to the value of life itself. There’s more that we need to say, certainly, but what it is saying is significant, and worth celebrating.
Having just had my first child two weeks ago, the film’s birthing scenes, which included some of the most outrageous and most memorable comedy in the film, were extremely fresh for me. The freshness only enhanced that the film’s strength is in its ability to walk the same paths that we all walk in different ways, and to muse about the comedy we encounter along the way. The movie captures in part what I just experienced in whole: that birthing a child is at least one if not the most painful, most intense, and most emotional experiences a person can know in this life. But holding a newborn child in your arms, indeed, holding your newborn child in your arms, changes your perspective forever, and leaves no question in your mind that the experience was worthwhile. I even think my wife would agree with that.
Knocked Up stars Seth Rogan as the aptly-named Ben Stone, an aimless twenty-something who fills his days smoking pot and hanging out with his friends. Unemployed, he makes his way by stretching out the proceeds of a government settlement. The $14,000 payment has lasted him nine years and counting, so materialism isn't really his problem. He's not without his ambitions, though. He and his friends have been working on a website that will collect information about the nude scenes of famous actresses. So the productive side of his life is spent "gathering research" by watching movies that contain nudity and logging the information about each scene. An abundant life, indeed.
In contrast to Ben, we have Alison Scott, played by Katherine Heigl. Alison is a rising star on the E! Network. Having worked her way up as a production assistant, she finally gets her big break with an opportunity to appear on camera as an interviewer. Thrilled at the opportunity, she decides to go out and celebrate with her sister. At the bar, she meets Ben, who clumsily buys her a drink. With encouragement from his friends, and a little bit of "liquid courage" Ben approaches and talks with Alison. As the evening progresses, their relationship follows a familiar track, as the alcohol begins to takes over where wisdom belongs. It leads them to her place, and you could fill in the rest.
Then the morning comes. For Alison, the morning brings the awful awareness of what she has done. As she stares down at Ben in the bed, she has an understandable mix of regret and horror. For Ben, he doesn't remember much of anything, and for the next few hours they must get to know each other anew. Alison quickly realizes that she has not found "Mr. Right," and the oddness of their conversation ends with polite promises to talk again.
That talk probably never would have happened until a few months later, when Alison realizes that she is pregnant. In the days that follow, Alison walks a familiar track, as she has to grapple with the reality of the pregnancy, contact Ben and let him know, then try to make sense of what this means for her future. Ben is understandably overwhelmed by the experience, realizing very quickly that he has no idea what he is doing and that he is entirely unfit for parenthood.
While Alison begins the process of picking a doctor, trying to keep her job going without them knowing about the pregnancy, and preparing for motherhood, Ben and Alison decide to give a relationship a go. The film wisely takes its time trying to cultivate this unlikely relationship, working its way to convince us that a guy like Ben could actually have a relationship with a woman like Alison. This effort works because the filmmakers are patient enough to let their relationship move slowly and in fits and starts, as we see Ben try and fail to figure out how to grow up.
Like Director Judd Apatow's breakout hit The 40-Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up is a coming of age film for an overgrown adolescent male. In Virgin, it was Steve Carrell's shy comic book-loving bachelor trying to figure out relationships long past the point where he should have. Here, it is a loser learning about responsibilities like working and relationships in the context of unplanned fatherhood. In both cases, the movies succeed because of skilled writing and a great comedic beat and because of great casting choices, particularly in their choice of leads. Rogan's Ben is a loser, but a lovable loser, and while he is certainly unfit for a relationship and for fatherhood, his unfitness echoes the awkwardness that many of us feel when we reach these steps in life. These characters are likable because they are real, and as we laugh at them we are laughing at ourselves.
Also like Virgin, one of the things that intrigues me most about the film is the stark contrast between the comedic beat of the film and the underlying value system the movie seems to uphold. After all, in the real world, could this story ever be told? An up-and-coming career woman with no identifiable faith background has a mistaken one-night stand with a hopeless loser and winds up pregnant. With little prospects to get meaningful help through this process and with a career that would likely get derailed by having a child, how many in our culture would opt for, as Knocked Up describes it, that word that "rhymes with Shma-shmortion." Although the movie takes a moment to acknowledge her "choice" to keep the child, there is surprisingly little conflict over this. Instead, it seems from the beginning that there is instinct to keep the child, and to contend with the impacts that the child will have on her and their lives.
Alongside this choice is her immediate reaction to involve Ben in her life and her desire to cultivate a relationship, if only for the benefit of their child. Even Ben, hopeless loser that he is, feels a responsibility to act well on behalf of his child and to make things work as much as possible. He talks to his Dad, trying to seek advice about how to make things work. He stumbles on the way, but seems intent in his best moments at wanting to make things right for both Alison and his child. While I don’t want to give away the ending, I’m impressed with the way the character grew, and found myself rooting for him throughout his journey.
Although it was slow to develop, I wound up enjoying a subplot that focused on the relationship between Alison’s sister and her husband. Early in the film, the relationship seemed little more than a foil, a chance to glimpse the stereotypical negatives of marriage and commitment and offer Ben and Alison a chance to see what they needed to stay away from. As the film went on, we get to know the couple more, and especially get to enjoy the budding friendship between Ben and Pete.
As in Reign Over Me, another recent release I reviewed awhile back, the time between Ben and Pete, particularly in a quick road trip they take together late in the movie, provides opportunities for reflection on male friendship. While Ben has been spending his life around his buddies, Pete has become locked down in a marriage that leaves him little time for male companionship. In a clever parallel, as he seeks to sneak time to be with fellow “nerds” we see him acting like a man cheating on his family. As much as the movie offers reflections on family values, it is also offering some thoughts on male friendship that are worthwhile.
Knocked Up is a fascinating juxtaposition of conservative values and tasteless comedy. Its comedy serves as a language that allows the film to communicate to the college crowd and the young adult audience that should be its primarily field (keep the teens away, please). The values it communicates, though, are some that I think Christians of all ages should be largely echoing. The film’s instincts are that the unborn need protection and care, that two parents should be devoted to raising a child with love, that there is a need in our lives for real friendships, and that careers and other pressures in life are secondary next to the value of life itself. There’s more that we need to say, certainly, but what it is saying is significant, and worth celebrating.
Having just had my first child two weeks ago, the film’s birthing scenes, which included some of the most outrageous and most memorable comedy in the film, were extremely fresh for me. The freshness only enhanced that the film’s strength is in its ability to walk the same paths that we all walk in different ways, and to muse about the comedy we encounter along the way. The movie captures in part what I just experienced in whole: that birthing a child is at least one if not the most painful, most intense, and most emotional experiences a person can know in this life. But holding a newborn child in your arms, indeed, holding your newborn child in your arms, changes your perspective forever, and leaves no question in your mind that the experience was worthwhile. I even think my wife would agree with that.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Little Children: A Review
Sadness reigns in Little Children. We begin with a summer playground populated by three bored housewives and their children. This is their daily ritual, a morning at the playground, engaging “conversation,” which is more a series of anecdotes and opinions delivered to nobody in particular. In brief glimpses, we know the basic unhappiness that seems to define each of their lives.
Alongside this conversation, we meet Sarah Pierce, Kate Winslet’s too-bright mother, struggling to find some place in this universe. A doctoral candidate in English Literature, her bright mind is unchallenged by the life she has chosen, and finds the playground a small solace that gives her a change of scenery, if not a real escape from the madness she feels lurking below the surface of her life.
While we come to know Sarah more than the other women, she seems at home with them in dealing with a malaise about her life. Having fiercely fought to stay home as the primary caregiver for her daughter, she questions why she took that stand, and finds herself desperate every day for the small amounts of time she has to herself when her husband comes home. Her marriage, though, is becoming increasingly strained. Her husband, presented to us as a dreadfully dull advertising executive, excuse me, “branding” executive, has himself become lost in a fantasy world. One click of the button began his slow seduction into the world of internet fantasy, and we observe one of the most realistic depictions of the comic-sadness that is internet pornography (a $4.9 billion industry, by one count). While Sarah catches him in the act, we never watch them fight through the issue. Instead, Sarah seeks her solace elsewhere.
For awhile, that solace will be found in the arms of Brad. We first meet Brad as the “Prom King,” dubbed so by the Playground Three for his frequent visits to the park with his son. He is the handsome stranger, and on a whim and a bet, Sarah meets him, and finds herself drawn to him. Their first encounter has its own strange ending, but eventually they come back together, and forge a “public friendship,” spending afternoons at the pool while their kids play.
Brad has his own struggles. A law school graduate, he is studying for his third attempt at the bar exam. While he readily accepts and talks about that failure in his life, he also finds himself drawn to various things, whether watching boys skateboarding or playing night football, that offer the hope of rediscovering his own since of masculinity. He’s married to a bombshell wife, played by Jennifer Connelly, and she pours herself into her job such that we sense a basic distance in their marriage from the very beginning.
Brad and Sarah find in each other a fantasy that they can live out. For Sarah, she sees in Brad a handsome lover who finds her engaging. He sees in her someone that believes in him, that sees the man in him that he no longer sees in himself. Their affair has been played out in their minds long before they ever act on it. When they do, it is nothing more than the raw expression of the pent up fantasies they have been living out in their minds since they met.
Then there’s the sex offender. In one of the stranger subplots in recent memory, we are introduced to Ronnie, a sex offender recently released from prison and now living in the neighborhood with his mother. Our first glimpse of him is only through the posters that the “Committee for Concerned Citizens,” actually just one unemployed ex-police officer, is putting up around the neighborhood. The town is abuzz about his presence. Everyone has an opinion about him, opinions he seems to confirm with every turn throughout the film.
We first meet him when he comes to the pool and swims around with goggles. When the police remove him from the premises, he protests that he was only there to “cool off,” but we know otherwise. In perhaps one of the saddest dating scenes in recent memory, he shows the depth of his sickness with the blind date his mother setup for him. He is a deeply disturbed man, and creates a level of discomfort any time he is present in the film.
While one might get lost in the increasing diversity of these characters, the film finds its heart in a single discussion. Invited to a book club to discuss Madame Bovary, Sarah endures a rant from the most arrogant of the Playground Three, who dismisses Bovary’s wanderings as the actions of a “slut.” Enduring the rant, Sarah responds with her gracious assessment of the character. She sympathizes with her for the unhappiness that defines her existence, and her willingness to fight against it. While she understands that she fails in her efforts, she admires her effort.
Hence, the film gives us characters who are each dealing with a defining kind of disappointment with life. For each, redemption comes not in a destination or a solution to the problem, but in a willingness to fight against that unhappiness.
Director Todd Field wisely resists a Hollywood solution to this drama. I found myself cringing through much of the last 20 minutes of the film, expecting a mundane turn in the plot. Despite several chances to do so, though, Field opts to stay true to his premise. This is not a film that gives easy solutions to its drama. I don’t even know if Field has an answer to the questions he’s asking, which allows him to find a more honest conclusion than he might otherwise have offered.
I expect that Little Children is the kind of film that a lot of Christians would have trouble seeing, but it may be just the kind of movie that many of them should see. It’s understanding of the despair that can take hold in a prosperous life is something that is probably familiar to many of us. One need only observe the balding 40-something in his convertible, the sports-obsessed at any weekend game, the conversations at a local Starbuck’s or at the local mall to see the reality of angst in the midst of success and the power of escapism to offer a salve for this angst. Perhaps we would easily dismiss the solutions these characters find for their problems, but I don’t know that we are always leading the way in finding better solutions.
The piece that I admire most about the film is its unwillingness to settle for despair. This is the necessary first step in the fight for joy, a fight that to my mind defines the Christian’s existence.
As I write this, I’m awaiting a phone call from my wife to tell me that she has gone into labor with our first child. I await word on her grandmother’s heart surgery and my cousin’s chemo treatments. I recall my conversations with friends in recent days over their frustrations over their jobs and their excitement about their pregnancies, coming weddings and graduations.
What is the outcome of this constant mix of joy and sadness, pleasure and pain all played out in a life that can move from seeming terminably long to dreadfully short in a span of hours? For many, the outcome is the kind of malaise that Little Children understands so well. We can come to see joy as a periodic byproduct that may or may not come in the midst of our journey, but certainly can’t be expected in the midst of life’s disappointments.
I think the Christian story describes a different kind of reality. It takes the desperate searching that the film describes, but points it to the Source of joy itself. C.S Lewis tells us that the basic problem of the human condition is that we are often too easily satisfied, settling for lesser pleasures than that which we are meant to know. Little Children understands some of the reasons for that, because for some the mediocrity of living makes real joy just seem to hard to actually experience.
If we are to engage in the kind of pursuit that both Lewis and Little Children consider, it may take the kind of dissatisfaction that the movie explores. If we are satisfied with a new convertible, a decent IRA, relatively conflict-free marriages and obedient children, what is there in us that will crave the passion of delighting in God above all things? Little Children understands what it takes many of us years of heartache to learn, namely, that these things will not satisfy. Resisting the temptation to settle for the mediocre as the best we can find, our call is to fight for joy, and to keep fighting until we find the real thing.
Alongside this conversation, we meet Sarah Pierce, Kate Winslet’s too-bright mother, struggling to find some place in this universe. A doctoral candidate in English Literature, her bright mind is unchallenged by the life she has chosen, and finds the playground a small solace that gives her a change of scenery, if not a real escape from the madness she feels lurking below the surface of her life.
While we come to know Sarah more than the other women, she seems at home with them in dealing with a malaise about her life. Having fiercely fought to stay home as the primary caregiver for her daughter, she questions why she took that stand, and finds herself desperate every day for the small amounts of time she has to herself when her husband comes home. Her marriage, though, is becoming increasingly strained. Her husband, presented to us as a dreadfully dull advertising executive, excuse me, “branding” executive, has himself become lost in a fantasy world. One click of the button began his slow seduction into the world of internet fantasy, and we observe one of the most realistic depictions of the comic-sadness that is internet pornography (a $4.9 billion industry, by one count). While Sarah catches him in the act, we never watch them fight through the issue. Instead, Sarah seeks her solace elsewhere.
For awhile, that solace will be found in the arms of Brad. We first meet Brad as the “Prom King,” dubbed so by the Playground Three for his frequent visits to the park with his son. He is the handsome stranger, and on a whim and a bet, Sarah meets him, and finds herself drawn to him. Their first encounter has its own strange ending, but eventually they come back together, and forge a “public friendship,” spending afternoons at the pool while their kids play.
Brad has his own struggles. A law school graduate, he is studying for his third attempt at the bar exam. While he readily accepts and talks about that failure in his life, he also finds himself drawn to various things, whether watching boys skateboarding or playing night football, that offer the hope of rediscovering his own since of masculinity. He’s married to a bombshell wife, played by Jennifer Connelly, and she pours herself into her job such that we sense a basic distance in their marriage from the very beginning.
Brad and Sarah find in each other a fantasy that they can live out. For Sarah, she sees in Brad a handsome lover who finds her engaging. He sees in her someone that believes in him, that sees the man in him that he no longer sees in himself. Their affair has been played out in their minds long before they ever act on it. When they do, it is nothing more than the raw expression of the pent up fantasies they have been living out in their minds since they met.
Then there’s the sex offender. In one of the stranger subplots in recent memory, we are introduced to Ronnie, a sex offender recently released from prison and now living in the neighborhood with his mother. Our first glimpse of him is only through the posters that the “Committee for Concerned Citizens,” actually just one unemployed ex-police officer, is putting up around the neighborhood. The town is abuzz about his presence. Everyone has an opinion about him, opinions he seems to confirm with every turn throughout the film.
We first meet him when he comes to the pool and swims around with goggles. When the police remove him from the premises, he protests that he was only there to “cool off,” but we know otherwise. In perhaps one of the saddest dating scenes in recent memory, he shows the depth of his sickness with the blind date his mother setup for him. He is a deeply disturbed man, and creates a level of discomfort any time he is present in the film.
While one might get lost in the increasing diversity of these characters, the film finds its heart in a single discussion. Invited to a book club to discuss Madame Bovary, Sarah endures a rant from the most arrogant of the Playground Three, who dismisses Bovary’s wanderings as the actions of a “slut.” Enduring the rant, Sarah responds with her gracious assessment of the character. She sympathizes with her for the unhappiness that defines her existence, and her willingness to fight against it. While she understands that she fails in her efforts, she admires her effort.
Hence, the film gives us characters who are each dealing with a defining kind of disappointment with life. For each, redemption comes not in a destination or a solution to the problem, but in a willingness to fight against that unhappiness.
Director Todd Field wisely resists a Hollywood solution to this drama. I found myself cringing through much of the last 20 minutes of the film, expecting a mundane turn in the plot. Despite several chances to do so, though, Field opts to stay true to his premise. This is not a film that gives easy solutions to its drama. I don’t even know if Field has an answer to the questions he’s asking, which allows him to find a more honest conclusion than he might otherwise have offered.
I expect that Little Children is the kind of film that a lot of Christians would have trouble seeing, but it may be just the kind of movie that many of them should see. It’s understanding of the despair that can take hold in a prosperous life is something that is probably familiar to many of us. One need only observe the balding 40-something in his convertible, the sports-obsessed at any weekend game, the conversations at a local Starbuck’s or at the local mall to see the reality of angst in the midst of success and the power of escapism to offer a salve for this angst. Perhaps we would easily dismiss the solutions these characters find for their problems, but I don’t know that we are always leading the way in finding better solutions.
The piece that I admire most about the film is its unwillingness to settle for despair. This is the necessary first step in the fight for joy, a fight that to my mind defines the Christian’s existence.
As I write this, I’m awaiting a phone call from my wife to tell me that she has gone into labor with our first child. I await word on her grandmother’s heart surgery and my cousin’s chemo treatments. I recall my conversations with friends in recent days over their frustrations over their jobs and their excitement about their pregnancies, coming weddings and graduations.
What is the outcome of this constant mix of joy and sadness, pleasure and pain all played out in a life that can move from seeming terminably long to dreadfully short in a span of hours? For many, the outcome is the kind of malaise that Little Children understands so well. We can come to see joy as a periodic byproduct that may or may not come in the midst of our journey, but certainly can’t be expected in the midst of life’s disappointments.
I think the Christian story describes a different kind of reality. It takes the desperate searching that the film describes, but points it to the Source of joy itself. C.S Lewis tells us that the basic problem of the human condition is that we are often too easily satisfied, settling for lesser pleasures than that which we are meant to know. Little Children understands some of the reasons for that, because for some the mediocrity of living makes real joy just seem to hard to actually experience.
If we are to engage in the kind of pursuit that both Lewis and Little Children consider, it may take the kind of dissatisfaction that the movie explores. If we are satisfied with a new convertible, a decent IRA, relatively conflict-free marriages and obedient children, what is there in us that will crave the passion of delighting in God above all things? Little Children understands what it takes many of us years of heartache to learn, namely, that these things will not satisfy. Resisting the temptation to settle for the mediocre as the best we can find, our call is to fight for joy, and to keep fighting until we find the real thing.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Spider-man 3: A Review
“If you want forgiveness, get religion” - Spider-man
Christ gets a prominent role in Spider-man 3. Driven to desperation, Eddie Brock, the photographer who failed in his attempts to surpass Peter Parker at the Bugle, finds himself in a church. Kneeling towards the front, he looks up at the crucifix, a vivid image of Christ on the cross, and begins his prayer. Humbled, emotional, weakened, he stumbles in the address until he finally states his single request to God: “Kill Peter Parker.”
OK, so maybe it’s not the best showing for faith in film. Nonetheless, the Spider-man saga has provided interesting commentary on heroism, if not faith, over the years. Building around the mantra that Stan Lee gave to the character from early on, “With great power comes great responsibility,” we have seen through the films a young man fighting to understand the nature of the abilities that were thrust upon him and how he can best make use of those powers for good. But Spider-man isn’t Batman, and consistent with the character the movies haven’t tried to move too much into the inner life and explore Parker’s motives. We have seen his sorrow over Ben’s death, and we have seen his failed response to that death. Beyond that, most of the emotional drama that has driven Parker to date has been his struggle to live out his new existence while still living an “ordinary life.”
Spider-man 3 is a worthy, if lesser, successor to its predecessors. $300 million can buy you some eye-popping special effects these days, but it seems it can’t always buy a good editor for a script. While the movie resists the “franchise-killer” label that other superhero “thirds” have embraced (see Batman and Superman for excellent examples), it is still a franchise that is at a crossroads, struggling to make a decision as to whether or not it is going to let these characters grow. Peter and Mary Jane have now secured their place on the list of the most boring romantic couples on the screen, having a relationship that is still marred by a thoroughly adolescent inability to communicate the barest of emotions, and as a result we feel like we’re lost in an endless relationship cycle manufactured by silly misunderstandings. While it may be unfair to simply shout at the characters, “Grow up,” the movie often fails to lets us see them grow at all.
Despite this weakness, Spider-man 3 does give us hints at a deeper voice that makes the film imminently watchable. The film’s three villains, Green Goblin, the Sandman, and Venom, all provoke Spider-man to face three basic issues in his life. In Green Goblin, the identity assumed by Peter’s friend Harry Osborn, Parker must encounter the costs his alter ego has imposed on the people he loves. In this journey, Goblin takes Spider-man on early in the film, and winds up losing his memory. This lets us glimpse at a rejuvenated Harry, freed from his resentment of Peter as he is freed from his memory of Spider-man’s involvement in his father’s death.
Alongside Harry’s story we are introduced to Flint Marko. A fugitive, we see him first on the run from the police, pausing in his run to visit his daughter. After seeing his softer side, we see him stumble into a restricted location into the middle of a radioactive science experiment (always the magic elixir of the Marvel universe). This transforms him into the Sandman, the springboard for some of the movie’s best effects. Oh, and it also turns out that he was also involved in Ben Parker’s murder, a revelation that is laid on Peter as an early piece of the unwinding of his relatively joyful existence.
Our third villain in the rogue’s gallery is Venom/Eddie Brock. Eddie is an ambitious photographer bent on stealing Peter’s job. Venom’s origins remain a mystery in the film, but originates as an alien black oil-like substance that first finds its way to Parker. The parasite tends to act as a symbiote, first attaching itself to a host then magnifying certain characteristics of its host, particularly the aggression within the host. This is key, because it tells us that whatever we see of the people who become victim to the parasite exhibit that which was already within themselves.
For Parker, the parasite’s first victim, it brings out an aggression and anger that we have only briefly glimpsed in previous movies. On the street, he is ridiculously confident, oblivious to the disgust of others at his newfound swagger. In costume, he is angry and aggressive, showing no restraint against his foes. For Brock, the second victim, the effects are even more pronounced. Consumed by anger, he transforms into the character Venom, a vicious parody of Spider-man, set on killing him. Both victims manifest their darker side, and so allow us to glimpse the shadows of their souls.
With the stage set for a grand piece of action, spiritual themes emerge that shape the film in significant ways. Chief of these is the matter of forgiveness. When Ben died, Peter went after the one he assumed was his killer, the one that he failed to stop shortly before Ben’s death in the act of committing a theft. While he wasn’t directly responsible for the thief’s death, Peter blames himself for both deaths. Facing the Sandman in this film, he does his best to kill him, and through all three stories Peter must face his need to forgive. As Aunt May reminds him, the key for Peter is not in forgiving others, but in forgiving himself.
This theme of forgiving oneself is echoed in other recent films. I think especially of The Lookout, a recent suspense film that deals deeply with a character driven by his own failure to forgive himself. In both cases, we see people who shape their lives around the realities of unforgiveness. For Peter, one of his greatest needs in his life is to extend grace to himself, and his failure to do so proves destructive to his most precious relationships. Both films suggest a broader need in our culture to contend with our failure to forgive ourselves for the mistakes of our past.
Along with this theme of forgiveness, we also see the theme of vengeance. This is such a common theme in modern super-hero films, often manifesting the values of the old westerns, that we could often pass on the issue without comment. Here, though, the desire for vengeance is paramount in Peter’s struggles. When Peter learns of Flint’s involvement in Ben’s death, he is consumed with a need to bring him to “justice.” After he assumes that he has done so, he is angry with Aunt May for failing to share in his exuberance. Aunt May reminds him of the limits of “vengeance,” and the need to let go of the pain of the past.
Peter can’t let go, and so we are invited to connect his desire for vengeance with his failure to forgive himself. Indeed, they are the same problem, as Peter can’t forgive either himself or others. He is tied up in the past, and is desperate to know the freedom of forgiveness.
Standing behind these two issues is the issue of sin itself. Actually, sin is not the film’s word, so maybe we should speak of it as “corruption.” The film’s world-view posits that Peter’s desire for vengeance and unforgiving attitude are not character flaws that exist in a vacuum, but are manifestations of a darkness in his soul. Peter doesn’t forgive because there is something within himself that doesn’t want to, a dark spot that revels in the blood lust of vengeance.
The problem with Spider-man 3 is that it doesn’t believe it’s own vision. The film positions itself well in trying to understand the universal corruption of the human soul, that which Christianity calls sin. But what is the solution to that corruption? For the film, the solution lies within Parker himself. Similar to his mantra, Parker comes to see his need to “make good choices,” knowing that bad choices will always prove tempting.
This reveals a basic failure to understand its subject. If Parker has this darkness within himself, if the aggression, anger, and selfishness that we see when he dons the black suit is truly an expression of his deeper urgings, why should we believe that there exists within that same person the ability to “shut it off?” If this corruption is real, than it should effect the whole person, including whatever faculty that Parker must rely on to make that good choice.
It strikes me that the filmmakers are ready to give us a universe that has good and evil, and even see some of that evil lying within ourselves. But they’re not ready to call that evil “sin,” and as such, there is something missing in their moral universe. The Christian view helps us understand Parker’s problem. Through the Christian story, we see Parker’s corruption, made manifest through the alien symbiosis, as the expression of the darkness that we all inherit from the fall. But this problem of sin cannot be solved by ourselves. The darkness is too deep, and it consumes too much of what we have become.
I don’t want to be too hard on the film, because too often Christians believe the same thing that the film does. We don’t like to talk about sin, and at times the church can present the false notion that we are generally decent people in need of minor correction. The gospel story, that we are desperate sinners without hope but for the divine intervention of the cross into our lives, falls away as we present ourselves as morally upright and upstanding citizens. We redefine our moral boundaries so that we can suggest that we generally comply with our diminished moral universe, and can praise God for covering over the slip-ups.
What the we need, and what the film needs, is a deeper understanding of the human condition. Yes, we need to forgive ourselves, and yes, there is a vital connection between our failure to forgive ourselves and our inability to forgive others. But these are merely manifestations of the deeper problem from which we need rescue. At our core, we are in need of transformation, and that transformation must ultimately be found outside of ourselves. We cannot generate it, and we cannot maintain it. We are paupers in need of grace, no matter how good our disguise.
Spider-man 3 understands the need for salvation. Christianity speaks of a need for a Savior. The difference between these two is critical, because in the end we cannot have the former without the latter.
Christ gets a prominent role in Spider-man 3. Driven to desperation, Eddie Brock, the photographer who failed in his attempts to surpass Peter Parker at the Bugle, finds himself in a church. Kneeling towards the front, he looks up at the crucifix, a vivid image of Christ on the cross, and begins his prayer. Humbled, emotional, weakened, he stumbles in the address until he finally states his single request to God: “Kill Peter Parker.”
OK, so maybe it’s not the best showing for faith in film. Nonetheless, the Spider-man saga has provided interesting commentary on heroism, if not faith, over the years. Building around the mantra that Stan Lee gave to the character from early on, “With great power comes great responsibility,” we have seen through the films a young man fighting to understand the nature of the abilities that were thrust upon him and how he can best make use of those powers for good. But Spider-man isn’t Batman, and consistent with the character the movies haven’t tried to move too much into the inner life and explore Parker’s motives. We have seen his sorrow over Ben’s death, and we have seen his failed response to that death. Beyond that, most of the emotional drama that has driven Parker to date has been his struggle to live out his new existence while still living an “ordinary life.”
Spider-man 3 is a worthy, if lesser, successor to its predecessors. $300 million can buy you some eye-popping special effects these days, but it seems it can’t always buy a good editor for a script. While the movie resists the “franchise-killer” label that other superhero “thirds” have embraced (see Batman and Superman for excellent examples), it is still a franchise that is at a crossroads, struggling to make a decision as to whether or not it is going to let these characters grow. Peter and Mary Jane have now secured their place on the list of the most boring romantic couples on the screen, having a relationship that is still marred by a thoroughly adolescent inability to communicate the barest of emotions, and as a result we feel like we’re lost in an endless relationship cycle manufactured by silly misunderstandings. While it may be unfair to simply shout at the characters, “Grow up,” the movie often fails to lets us see them grow at all.
Despite this weakness, Spider-man 3 does give us hints at a deeper voice that makes the film imminently watchable. The film’s three villains, Green Goblin, the Sandman, and Venom, all provoke Spider-man to face three basic issues in his life. In Green Goblin, the identity assumed by Peter’s friend Harry Osborn, Parker must encounter the costs his alter ego has imposed on the people he loves. In this journey, Goblin takes Spider-man on early in the film, and winds up losing his memory. This lets us glimpse at a rejuvenated Harry, freed from his resentment of Peter as he is freed from his memory of Spider-man’s involvement in his father’s death.
Alongside Harry’s story we are introduced to Flint Marko. A fugitive, we see him first on the run from the police, pausing in his run to visit his daughter. After seeing his softer side, we see him stumble into a restricted location into the middle of a radioactive science experiment (always the magic elixir of the Marvel universe). This transforms him into the Sandman, the springboard for some of the movie’s best effects. Oh, and it also turns out that he was also involved in Ben Parker’s murder, a revelation that is laid on Peter as an early piece of the unwinding of his relatively joyful existence.
Our third villain in the rogue’s gallery is Venom/Eddie Brock. Eddie is an ambitious photographer bent on stealing Peter’s job. Venom’s origins remain a mystery in the film, but originates as an alien black oil-like substance that first finds its way to Parker. The parasite tends to act as a symbiote, first attaching itself to a host then magnifying certain characteristics of its host, particularly the aggression within the host. This is key, because it tells us that whatever we see of the people who become victim to the parasite exhibit that which was already within themselves.
For Parker, the parasite’s first victim, it brings out an aggression and anger that we have only briefly glimpsed in previous movies. On the street, he is ridiculously confident, oblivious to the disgust of others at his newfound swagger. In costume, he is angry and aggressive, showing no restraint against his foes. For Brock, the second victim, the effects are even more pronounced. Consumed by anger, he transforms into the character Venom, a vicious parody of Spider-man, set on killing him. Both victims manifest their darker side, and so allow us to glimpse the shadows of their souls.
With the stage set for a grand piece of action, spiritual themes emerge that shape the film in significant ways. Chief of these is the matter of forgiveness. When Ben died, Peter went after the one he assumed was his killer, the one that he failed to stop shortly before Ben’s death in the act of committing a theft. While he wasn’t directly responsible for the thief’s death, Peter blames himself for both deaths. Facing the Sandman in this film, he does his best to kill him, and through all three stories Peter must face his need to forgive. As Aunt May reminds him, the key for Peter is not in forgiving others, but in forgiving himself.
This theme of forgiving oneself is echoed in other recent films. I think especially of The Lookout, a recent suspense film that deals deeply with a character driven by his own failure to forgive himself. In both cases, we see people who shape their lives around the realities of unforgiveness. For Peter, one of his greatest needs in his life is to extend grace to himself, and his failure to do so proves destructive to his most precious relationships. Both films suggest a broader need in our culture to contend with our failure to forgive ourselves for the mistakes of our past.
Along with this theme of forgiveness, we also see the theme of vengeance. This is such a common theme in modern super-hero films, often manifesting the values of the old westerns, that we could often pass on the issue without comment. Here, though, the desire for vengeance is paramount in Peter’s struggles. When Peter learns of Flint’s involvement in Ben’s death, he is consumed with a need to bring him to “justice.” After he assumes that he has done so, he is angry with Aunt May for failing to share in his exuberance. Aunt May reminds him of the limits of “vengeance,” and the need to let go of the pain of the past.
Peter can’t let go, and so we are invited to connect his desire for vengeance with his failure to forgive himself. Indeed, they are the same problem, as Peter can’t forgive either himself or others. He is tied up in the past, and is desperate to know the freedom of forgiveness.
Standing behind these two issues is the issue of sin itself. Actually, sin is not the film’s word, so maybe we should speak of it as “corruption.” The film’s world-view posits that Peter’s desire for vengeance and unforgiving attitude are not character flaws that exist in a vacuum, but are manifestations of a darkness in his soul. Peter doesn’t forgive because there is something within himself that doesn’t want to, a dark spot that revels in the blood lust of vengeance.
The problem with Spider-man 3 is that it doesn’t believe it’s own vision. The film positions itself well in trying to understand the universal corruption of the human soul, that which Christianity calls sin. But what is the solution to that corruption? For the film, the solution lies within Parker himself. Similar to his mantra, Parker comes to see his need to “make good choices,” knowing that bad choices will always prove tempting.
This reveals a basic failure to understand its subject. If Parker has this darkness within himself, if the aggression, anger, and selfishness that we see when he dons the black suit is truly an expression of his deeper urgings, why should we believe that there exists within that same person the ability to “shut it off?” If this corruption is real, than it should effect the whole person, including whatever faculty that Parker must rely on to make that good choice.
It strikes me that the filmmakers are ready to give us a universe that has good and evil, and even see some of that evil lying within ourselves. But they’re not ready to call that evil “sin,” and as such, there is something missing in their moral universe. The Christian view helps us understand Parker’s problem. Through the Christian story, we see Parker’s corruption, made manifest through the alien symbiosis, as the expression of the darkness that we all inherit from the fall. But this problem of sin cannot be solved by ourselves. The darkness is too deep, and it consumes too much of what we have become.
I don’t want to be too hard on the film, because too often Christians believe the same thing that the film does. We don’t like to talk about sin, and at times the church can present the false notion that we are generally decent people in need of minor correction. The gospel story, that we are desperate sinners without hope but for the divine intervention of the cross into our lives, falls away as we present ourselves as morally upright and upstanding citizens. We redefine our moral boundaries so that we can suggest that we generally comply with our diminished moral universe, and can praise God for covering over the slip-ups.
What the we need, and what the film needs, is a deeper understanding of the human condition. Yes, we need to forgive ourselves, and yes, there is a vital connection between our failure to forgive ourselves and our inability to forgive others. But these are merely manifestations of the deeper problem from which we need rescue. At our core, we are in need of transformation, and that transformation must ultimately be found outside of ourselves. We cannot generate it, and we cannot maintain it. We are paupers in need of grace, no matter how good our disguise.
Spider-man 3 understands the need for salvation. Christianity speaks of a need for a Savior. The difference between these two is critical, because in the end we cannot have the former without the latter.
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