THE LAND OF UNLIKENESS

Pixar’s Wall-E (2008) tells the story of an impolite robot, a world that is collapsing in every imaginable way (biologically, socially, economically), and a human race that has divorced itself from that world. The demi-god of the ruling commerce culture declares that the planet is toxic and forbids the return of the exiles. Freed from the tragic cost of doing business terrestrially and floating aimlessly in space aboard their interstellar pseudo-ark, the Axiom, humans decline into overweight, non-ambulatory automatons, divorced even from each other, aside from superficial conversations via the heads-up video display inches from their faces that filters out the real for the virtual, the simulacra. The fact that the H.U.D. is transparent is more a salve to their eroded consciences than it is a legitimate window to the real. In one of the most poignant scenes of the film, the robot Wall-E, having stowed aboard the Axiom, interrupts several of the ship’s denizens in their dematerialized reverie, and introduces himself. And for many on the Axiom, robot and human alike, the introduction of this personal, conversant presence is unwelcome. Wall-E does not accept, or rather can not fathom the terms of their anti-dialogical existence. He lives for relationship and, even in this alien environment, can not help but make friends. But, at times, even making friends can be an impolite act – to contest what in Wall-E was really toxic, the exchange of real conversation for a fetish with commercial simulacra.

This is the kind of impoliteness that Graham Ward calls for in The Politics of Discipleship: Becoming Post-Material Citizens. The act of being a citizen does look crass next to the polished acquiescence to consumerism and endless materialism. But for the theologian, who is not a citizen of this world, Ward’s is a call to a radical kind of impoliteness, the scandal of the Christ.

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In the latest installment of the Batman series, the Joker has been wonderfully distilled to the essence of the Satanic. He is radically evil for this reason only: He does not care about money (like mere criminals), but he only cares to corrupt those around him, to show that they are just as vile as he is, and that goodness is always a ruse. Kant said that only a good will is truly good. The Joker aims to prove that this good will exists nowhere. The movie in large part proves that he is right, but for those of us who are still trying to be good, this is strangely inconsequential. As dark as the movie is, and Heath Ledger’s perfomance as the Joker is riveting, his character more often elicits laughs than gasps (of which there are a few, but not all supplied by the bad guys). The Joker is a great character because he reminds us of Satan’s basic predicament. He has refused to bend his knee to a “good” God, and has dedicated his life to distorting those who are stupid and weak enough to spend half their lives kneeling and praising. Basically, then, he is lonely and wants company. Continue reading ‘A Devil of a Joker (slight spoiler alert)’

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The movie begins with us inside the voice of the old, soon to retire sheriff, and though ostensibly the action occurs elsewhere, we realize at the end of the film that we’ve never left this voice, in fact we’ve fallen deeper into its Texan cracks, even into its dreams. How do we know this? We know this because, like a sheriff, and unlike a movie, we miss most of the action. Sure, we come upon it in anticipation, but most of the killings are (literally) veiled from our eyes. We can’t figure out who the heroes are because they keep dying in very anticlimactic ways, right before, or right after, our attention has been called. I’m so excited that a filmmaker (two even!) have resurrected the art of “not showing”–Hitchcock definitely had that one down, as did many others, though perhaps in part out of regard for the censors. Well the censors have mostly gone home, but the viewers remain, and No Country for Old Men is described as a “violent” film or one that is “action packed,” but these lines come from censors who were once viewers. The truth is that the film simply shows us what it’s like to be an old man who is too slow, too peaceful, and too intelligent, for the world of terror.

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The (very very) bad dude in No Country for Old Men is presented as our male hero: brave, loyal, trustworthy, unafraid, and most important of all, true to his word. He must kill an entirely innocent victim just because he said he will. He doesn’t enjoy evil for its own sake, but he simply performs what evil deed he must in order to live up to, even sacrifice himself for, some higher principle. He clearly enjoys his evil deeds, but whence cometh this enjoyment? We ask the same question about him that Augustine asked about himself when he remembered the theft of the pears, which he did not do because the pears were good to eat, or for any other reason, but simply to indulge in the shame of the act. Augustine actually doesn’t give us a good answer as to why he commits his crime–it is clearer in the film: Sigur Anton (bad dude) is the last man around, the only character with character, strength and values. A true hero, and yet when he crumbles into a puddle at the end of the film there shines a ray of something totally different, in the irrational refusal to live in his world of a cute girl who works for Wallmart, we see the beginnings of a glory on the far side of the American man.

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Well I’m sure glad that Dan keeps himself on the theology, thus justifying this as a theology blog, cause I would like to write about Dracula tonight. I just finished Bram Stoker’s wonderful (and big) book, and then watched the Coppola film version of it. The movie is so-so (who the hell did Keanu Reeves sleep with to get these roles???); the big change Coppola makes is to throw in a love story between Count Dracula and his youthful love (way back in 1460 something). Due to Turkish treachery she commits suicide, the church (Romanian Orthodox I think?) shouts blasphemy, her soul is to rot in hell, and Dracula commits himself to evil. A little cheezy, but it actually pays off in the end, for Coppola then has the 19thc. Dracula fall in love with the British Mina, who is basically a reincarnation of his ancient Romanian darling. At the end Mina redeems the Count and sends his soul to heaven, which, though the the love story is not in the book, is pretty true to Bram’s plot, in which Mina emphasizes the save-ability of the vampires (of course they are saved by having their hearts run through with a stake and their heads chopped off!). This is, of course, the Faust myth, and a surprisingly reliable duplication of it. For even though Faust sells his soul to the devil, and messes pretty seriously with some good German souls, at the end he still gets into Paradise, due to Mephistopheles getting distracted by a cute boy angel (!!no kidding!!). I’m sure people have written scads on this topic, but what is probably less noticed is how close Harry Potter fits into (and I would argue, nicely completes) the Faust myth. Especially as concerning Dracula, in which Rowling borrows the device of the good guy and the bad guy having a telepathic communication (Mina and Dracula, Harry and Voldemort). Mina also wears a scar on her forehead where she is burned by the host, due to her burgeoning vampire blood, which cannot bear the sacrament. There are many other parallels as well, but the main theme, I believe, is the importance of redeeming the devil figure. Whether it is Milton’s Satan, Goethe’s Faust, (hell, even the damned in Dante), Frankenstein, Dracula, or Voldemort (and Snape too), it is the possible redemption of these devilish figures which really lights up these texts. I think Rowling does a great job of addressing this in her final book with the wailing baby figure which shows up in the sequence in King’s Cross station, clearly at least part of Voldemort’s soul. This is perhaps her most poetic moment. . . . In all these literary creations death and life are maddeningly enmeshed but what separates them can become razor sharp as well. There is a big difference between a dying life (that maintains itself in love as it struggles with death, as Jacob with the Angel {of death?}) and a living death, the undead, nosferatu, which, in a mockery of life takes blood to perpetuate its unliving undying death. All these Faust myths have a bit of that Germanic moral tone as well, in that we must, as Christians, look very carefully at what it means to be granted immortal life. Does it mean we have power over death, power to never die, power to rule nature and disease? Or is it perhaps the gift to die in the name of love, which is what God means by life, but we misunderstand him sometimes. . . .

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Julie Taymor’s Across the Universe is an explosion of cultural throwbacks and cinematic contortions, not to mention Beatle’s hit after hit, “like endless rain into a paper cup”. But it’s not simply vintage nostalgia. Buried in the plot is a power struggle between two deep human urges that bears theological fruit in its reflection of Love as a pole averring, mediating factor that ultimately funds the best of human efforts.

Early in the film, Taymor appears to squarely pit social and militant activism and artistic creation against each other, and gives the impression that the infamous Love will side with the latter. It’s only an impression, and one that many on both sides mistakenly take to as the final word for better or ill. On one side, there’s the declaration of fealty to an ambiguous and numinous Love, the great fictional panacea. On the other, there’s the concession that Love is indeed ambiguous, impotent to effect change; the there’s an argument for the need for something else, something more jarring, even violent. And thus we have the polarization of the 60s set before us: the peaceful, inward, even insular arts culture on one side (Woodstock par excellance); and the boisterous and often violent activist movement concomitant and strangely akin to the oft harsh and violent government (Kent State/Vietnam). And then, in wake of this “revolution” there’s the late 70s and 80s, perceived by many, and certainly portrayed in the film, as the waning of Love and meaning – “You know, it’s gonna be alright, yeah”. Continue reading ‘Is All We Need LOVE? A prolegomena to future discussions on Love and Being.’

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**Spoiler alert: I reveal key plot points in this commentary. If you wish to see Sunshine without having any surprises spoiled, please skip my piece for now.

I saw Sunshine not as an avid sci-fi fan, but as an avid moviegoer trying to find something to watch that would fit my schedule one evening. Catching Sunshine was something of a happy accident and a sad surprise. It’s one of the better science fiction films I’ve seen in the past few years, even if its conclusion fails maddeningly to live up to the promise of its beginning. The film has a lot energy, develops characters fairly well, poses interesting ethical dilemmas, and offers spectacular visuals that do not merely function to overcome narrative shortcomings. Here’s the story: some time in the future, our planet has plunged into a solar winter because the sun is dying. Continue reading ‘Scorched by Zealotry: A Review of and Commentary on Sunshine’

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Neil Gaiman’s Stardust is due out any day now, and is already getting great feedback. I read the book recently, and even passed it on to a friend as he headed off to Italy for a month. He read it quickly. I’m hoping – hint, hint – that he’ll acquiese and review it for us here before we’re all spoiled on the film.

Anyway, it’s so short, and really good, so all of you, put down the theology, and the social constructivism, and the Duns Scotus – I won’t even say Harry Potter, since those of you that are still reading or haven’t finished, as Aron says, have bigger problems – go get Stardust from your local library or independent bookstore, and get cracking. You have about 13 hours from now… 16 if you’re Pacific.

From Salon.com: This is a picture that looks to have been made with pleasure, for our pleasure, as opposed to something we’re supposed to be impressed by.

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In honor of the passing of Ingmar Bergman, the Chicago Cinema forum has announced a weekend-long “crash course in Bergman”. You can read about it at the Chicago Cinema forum website or at the Chicago Reader, a fine print establishment. I still remember the first time I saw the Seventh Seal and both marvelled at it and winced in confusion at the same time. It was the beginning of a painful but necessary break from the american pop film aesthetic. Later, I would see his Magic Flute and, despite my terse relationship with opera, quite enjoy it. (The close-ups of people in the audience, especially a particular child, make it a really charming film)

So, in the spirit of remembering Bergman, I thought we might have a little interactivity here.

I was only allowed the space for 7 choices, and most likely missed the film many of you would have chosen. But, that’s what comments are for, right?

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Just went to see Sicko a couple nights ago, and like all of Moore’s films, the images stick pretty well. First of all, I thought it was an excellent movie–compelling, funny, irritating, and earnest. All of the criticisms that one can make of Moore are probably true but ultimately not very interesting. The bottom line is he just makes good movies about important topics. This one especially I thought had a sense of improvisation, lightness and self-deprecating humor that really made it a joy to watch. He has a measured sense of his own image and weaves it deftly into the substance of his film. I suggest people watch this in the theaters too, because the reaction of the audience is a big part of the show. When Moore shows the creation of HMO’s via a white house tape of Nixon and Ehrlichmann people got genuinely angry (and foul-mouthed), and not in the pansy ass liberal way. More like that LA street riot way. And when we broke into applause at the words of a British statesman, it wasn’t a self-righteous nod to someone who is affirming our own presuppositions, but acknowledgment of how surprising the truth can be, what a good idea democracy is, and the huge potential that Americans, perhaps alone among the peoples of this earth, have to mark this world with a genuine form of it.

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