In The Descendants, Matt King (George Clooney) is a successful lawyer who is also the executor of a trust that governs a significantly large portion of virgin land on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. The trust is soon to expire and will force him and his cousins to sell, a deal potentially worth upwards of a half a billion dollars. Matt’s wife, Elizabeth (Patricia Hastie), has been involved in a speed boat accident, which puts her in a coma from which she will not recover. When Matt brings his eldest daughter Alexandra (Shailene Woodley) home to break the news to her, she drops an equally devastating bomb on him. Elizabeth was cheating on Matt with a local realtor, Brian Speer (Matthew Lillard). Matt, along with Alexandra, his youngest daughter, Scottie (Amara Miller), and Alexandra’s friend Sid (Nick Krause), set out to find and confront Brian as well as making arrangement to say goodbye to, and allow friends and family to say goodbye to, Elizabeth.

The Descendants rings the truest of any drama that I saw last year and of any film nominated for Best Picture. Its strength is in the script (Alexander Payne, Jim Rash, and Nat Faxon) and direction (Payne), neither of which ever miss a step. Hawaii provides a beautiful backdrop to the tragic (and sometime humorous) events. The actors, lead by Best Actor nominee Clooney, along with Woodley, Miller, and Krause, are nearly perfect in their dysfunctional roles. On the other hand, that Clooney’s not much of a crier is occasionally distracting when there are several scenes that require him to do so. The lead performances are helped along by the fantastic dialogue with which they have to work. The kids aren’t burdened with uncharacteristically formal dialogue, and Clooney, as a grieving and victimized husband, is not forced to fight or yell at his wife’s lover or to have sex on the side in revenge.

Matt (George Clooney) searches for the man that had an affair with his wife and a way to reconnect with his daughters, Alexandra (Shailene Woodley) and Scottie (Amara Miller).

As I mentioned earlier, The Descendants is an eminently spiritual film. Its themes of death, loss, grief, forgiveness, and reconciliation are heart- and gut-wrenching. Viewers like Boatwright will no doubt be gravely offended by all the coarse language and children flipping off their parents and will unfortunately miss what such language and actions signify, namely aching souls crying out for peace and healing. Of course, other viewers will, perhaps rightly, lament the absence of a positive, specifically religious response to all this pain, say in the form of a comforting minister or chaplain. However, the characters do find healing and reconciliation, but they find it not apart from the mess in which they struggle but actually, and quite surprisingly, within it. The beauty of the film is in the way in which the reconciliation between Matt and his daughters happens organically and not miraculously and in the ways in which Matt makes himself vulnerable to those who have wronged and wrong him, particularly Brian and Elizabeth’s father, Scott (Robert Forster). He makes space for Brian to visit Elizabeth’s bedside and mourn her impending death. When Scott blames Matt for Elizabeth’s coma and asserts that Elizabeth was always faithful to him, Matt holds his tongue.

The grief of Elizabeth’s coma and impending death impact each character, especially those closest to her, in a variety of ways. Learning that she cheated on him only complicates Matt’s grief, and his decision to interact with both Brian and her father honors, in some way, her memory. Both Alexandra and Scottie lash out in anger and frustration, no doubt at their father’s initial distance, their mother’s situation, and their own incapability of coping with this tragedy.

I’m sure there’s a parallel to be drawn between the land that Matt and his cousins have inherited and now must decide whether or not to sell and the loss of Matt’s wife. I’m open to suggestions. Initially, I thought of the tension between the willingness or ability to let go of what is gifted to us–be it a companion or an inheritance of land/money–and the desire to hold on to it. There are clear cultural and political implications of the privileged situation in which Matt and his cousins find themselves, but the film only pays lip service to them.

The Descendants is a tough emotional ride, but one that is well worth the effort and energy. Amid all the messiness of the lives we can see not only truths about pain and loss, but truths about love and (re)connection as well. Go see it if it’s still lingering in a theater near you.

The Descendants (115 mins.) is rated R for language including some sexual references and is currently in theaters.

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming dissertation on the uses of gay camp in biblical films. This section discusses horror movie conventions used in The Passion of the Christ. It is my contention that Mel Gibson’s use of these strange and even humorous tropes in what is otherwise a horrific and torturous account of the last hours of Christ opens The Passion to a broader reading—even a “camp” or “queer” reading. The illustrations are presented as visual evidence of this thesis.  – Richard Lindsay

By the end of the flogging scene in Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, Jesus is a bloody pulp, and with the crown of thorns, he resembles the character Pinhead in Clive Barker’s Hellraiser series. However, there turns out to be some unintended Biblical theology behind turning Jesus into a monstrous figure. As Galatians 3:13 puts it, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree“(NRSV). Although an incarnational, liberating theology seems farthest from the mind of Mel Gibson, we could see The Passion as Christ becoming a monster in solidarity with all others who are treated as monstrous in the world—the disabled, the sick and dying, the unfairly imprisoned and inhumanely tortured, the poor, and people of sexual or gender difference. In this way, the monstrousness of this horror story, intended to portray the kerygma of the cosmic battle of Good versus Evil, unintentionally becomes queer. What The Passion suggests through its camp kerygma, is what Paul suggests in Galatians: that Jesus was ‘queered’ on the cross.

This would not be too much of a stretch for queer writers, many of whom have described the relationship between monstrosity, queerness, and horror. In his book on monstrosity and homosexuality in film, Michael William Saunders notices what other writers like Stephen Moore have noticed about the dual nature of queerness as it applies to monstrosity:

The idea of the monster derives from two fundamental etymological myths: that monsters are anomalous creatures that serve as signs indicating the consequences of the natural order (Look what happens when you do bad things!); and that monsters are marvelous, monumental manifestations of the power of God (Look what God can do!). The monster is, by its very nature, most fundamentally an image whose purpose is to reveal the power, and more importantly, the terror, of divinity.[1]     

Once again, we see the ability of queerness to simultaneously define in opposition and undermine in perversity. Jesus’ monstrosity in The Passion is both a warning (a remonstration) of the power of evil, and a sign (a monstrance) of God’s terrible power. Saunders goes on to explain the spiritual value of voyeurism as we the audience gaze on this horrible monster that Christ has become:

[The monster] is meant to be seen, but its nature as image is to discourage us, either through fear or through awe, from looking too long where we ought not to look. …If we look at such an image too long or too often, we commit a sacrilege or we endanger ourselves by presuming to look casually at what we are not meant to be able to bear. As an image, a monster functions to give power to an elect—the hierophants who are allowed to wield the image because they have proven their immunity against it….”[2]

This echoes the reactions of professors Russell Hittinger and Elizabeth Lev to Gibson’s film. They write, “We, too, have been witnessing these events, and that it is now we who are called to bear witness to what we have seen.”[3] Their call to witness initiates us into that hierophany of privileged viewers who have experienced the brutal torture of Jesus Christ, and we are called to speak about it to the world. 

Taking one more queer twist, however, beyond the voyeuristic salvation offered in The Passion, is the possibility of identifying with Christ as a queer body. In his essay “Growing Up Horror,” gay writer D. Travers Scott writes about his childhood obsession with horror movies and makeup and how this became an overt expression for more covert sexual desires. As a preteen, he decorated his room with horror movie posters, rubber body parts, and wig stands decorated to look like they had deteriorating flesh and rotting eyeballs. Scott places this fascination beyond identification with outsiders, what he calls “Freddy Kruger-as-Genet.”[4]He explains that horror helped him take real pleasure in his “body’s rebellious nature.” He adds, “At a time when my body was under multiple systems of oppression—too young, too queer, too prone to disease—stories of rebellious bodies…filled me with glee.”[5]

At the same time, this body-ness serves an important function when placing Gibson’s Jesus film in the broader context of the Jesus film genre. The destruction of Jesus’ body in The Passion is perhaps more evidence of Christ having a body than any previous Jesus film had dared to portray. This is the polar opposite of Jeffrey Hunter’s pretty, barely-bruised Jesus with shaved underarms in Nicholas Ray’s King of Kings (1961), a role that earned the ire of cynical critics, who called it “I Was a Teenage Jesus.” The graphic production of The Passion creates a Christ body that is gruesome and carnal, like the “horror” bodies beloved by Scott, the young burgeoning queer. These bodies are, “Adamantly irrational. They populate a world in which common sense no longer reigns supreme, but lust, passion, frenzy, and desire erupt in swollen uprisings.”[6] Scott further describes these horror bodies as subaltern: ‘The members of these rebellions are not a downtrodden underclass but downtrodden values: passion, love, emotion, and feeling, all demanding their say, their place at the table of consciousness and reality, their recognition in the tyranny of an ascetic Puritan, rational, reproductive, sterile, and all-too-safe- world. And how queer is that?”[7]

Taking Scott’s reflections a theological step further, could we dare ask: In the same way, a flayed savior who really bleeds, really suffers, and really dies an agonizing death…how queer is that?! Of course, if you don’t think that The Passion of the Christ belongs squarely in the horror film genre, consider the brief photographic argument here:

Note: Recall the shot of the elderly man with his eyes gouged out in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963).

The list here is not really in any particular order. There are several films that we suspect might have made the list had we had the time to see them. Some of these include A Separation, Take Shelter, Melancholia, Shame and others. Unfortunately, writing and defending dissertations, prepping a book for publication, and planning an around-the-world journey cut into our movie-going this year. You can read more about why we chose each film after this snapshot:

• The Help
• Higher Ground
• The Adjustment Bureau
• Of Gods and Men
• Tree of Life
• Hugo
• Cave of Forgotten Dreams
• Courageous
• Red State
• Drive

The Help: This little movie about African-American domestic workers in the Civil Rights-era South packed a wallop at the box office and started a national conversation about how we view the history of race relations in post-Obama America. It also contains some of the best acting performances of the year, and if the SAG and Golden Globe nominations are any indication, the film is an early favorite for Oscar consideration.
One of the major criticisms of the The Help was that it offered a too-gentle rebuke of the segregation era, allowing audiences to feel easy superiority over the most shockingly racist characters. There is some truth to this critique, but to focus on the film’s shortcomings as an accurate portrayal of the segregationist South is to miss its liberating message of resistance to oppression using elements of feminist/womanist theology.

The feminist/womanist theological principle practiced throughout the film is “table fellowship,” in which faith and life are seen as an ever-expanding circle of hospitality in which more and more people are drawn in. The revolutionary action of the characters begins with a kitchen conversation between the black maid Aibileen (Viola Davis) and the white reporter Skeeter (Emma Stone).  This simple beginning soon grows to include a close friend, Minny (Octavia Spencer) and later, many of the maids in Aibileen’s neighborhood. As the women sit around their tables sharing food and coffee, trust is created and they begin to share stories, starting with the more general and humorous, and gradually delving deeper into soul-bearing confessions of pain, hardship, and hope. In a line that summarizes the central theme of the movie, one of the characters says, “We’re not doing civil rights, we’re just telling stories.” And of course, the women in this film are doing both.

Perhaps the most important legacy of the film is that it helps us remember that the Civil Rights movement, for all its national heroes like Martin Luther King, Jr., and Rosa Parks, was also made up of thousands of ordinary women and men who transformed society through small acts of courage.

Higher Ground: One of several excellent independent spiritual films that did not receive wide release this year (others which Pop Theology missed in the theaters included The Way and Another Earth), Higher Ground is Vera Farminga’s directorial debut. An adaptation of the Carolyn S. Briggs memoir, This Dark World, the movie immerses us in the faith journey of Corinne (played by Farminga) and the culture of 1970’s charismatic Christianity. The film skillfully portrays elements of the Jesus People movement, which combined the radical experiential practices of the hippies with evangelical Christianity. The community Corinne and her husband Ethan (Joshua Leonard) join sees no conflict between living as hippies in upstate New York, eating 70’s health food, talking graphically about having meaningful sex with their spouses, and going to prayer meetings at house churches. Jesus is their drug. Eventually, Corinne and her family have difficulty integrating their faith with the rest of their lives. Feeling spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually oppressed by the church, Corinne begins chafing against the community’s leadership and the patriarchal “spiritual headship” Ethan tries to get her to submit to. Soon, she must decide whether or not she will remain in her marriage and in her church.

A poignant scene happens after one of the members of the community tells Corinne that if she doesn’t get right with God, she’ll be left outside of the Kingdom with the dogs (a reference to Rev. 22:15). Corinne returns home to visit the church of her youth, where an old hound sits on the front porch. When she walks back out of the church and follows the dog to an adjoining field, dogs of all shapes, sizes, and breeds rush around her. What the member of Corinnne’s church didn’t realize in criticizing her is that dogs are symbols of fidelity. Throughout art history, and specifically in religious paintings, the presence of dogs often signified faithfulness and devotion.  Far from being “in the doghouse,” Corinne’s journey is still one of faith, even as she is forced to live it out on the margins of the Christian community to which she belongs. The film captures Corrine’s struggle beautifully in the final shot, in which she stands in the doorway of the church, physically and spiritually divided as to whether or not she should leave. The film demonstrates the great tragedy of institutional religion—people must often choose between their relationship with God, and their relationship to their faith community. It’s a shame that so much of Christian religion has become antithetical to Bishop Ireneus’ teaching that “the glory of God is a human being fully alive.”

The Adjustment Bureau: The late writer Philip K. Dick continues his reign as the perhaps the most influential inventor of science fiction scenarios for Hollywood with this year’s The Adjustment Bureau. The film takes the simple statement, “God has a Plan,” to its logical (or absurd) conclusion. If God has a plan, and humans have some level of choice, it must be possible to go “off plan.” If that’s the case, then God must be constantly making “adjustments” at the micro and macro level. So what if, the film asks, in order to keep the cosmic clockwork moving, God needs not miracles or angels, but something more like a bureaucracy? That’s where the Adjustment Bureau comes in. These are the men with hats and grey suits who keep history going in the right direction. And, like any bureaucracy, the underlings don’t know the whole story. They’re organization men. Their main purpose is to keep The Boss happy and move up the ladder, not to question the morality of their actions. And sometimes mistakes are made. Blame is shifted. The fixers in the corner office have to come in and clean things up. The Adjustment Bureau agents in the film are played quite entertainingly by John Slattery (Roger Sterling from Mad Men), Anthony Mackie, and the incomparable Terrence Stamp. The boys from the Home Office are straight-laced and ruthless, as they try to keep Matt Damon’s character, David Norris, a Congressman, and Elise Sellas (Emily Blunt), a dancer, from finding the happiness together that would put them “off-plan” for the important contributions the two of them are supposed to make to the world.

The crux of the film is free will versus predestination, Calvin versus Aquinas, Plato versus Aristotle—a romantic comedy of Western metaphysics. Even the main characters—the spontaneous dancer in love with the calculating politician—represent the interplay of philosophical opposites. I suspect some people may object to the sheer, brutal Calvinism of the Bureau. More “advanced” theological minds may suggest that we don’t think this way anymore, that we have matured in our view of humans as co-creators with God, or even beyond the idea of divine interference at all. But I’m not sure this is completely true. Having spent the last ten years of my life in the midst of theological education and religious leadership, the “will” of God weighs heavily on seminary students, ministers, and committed laypeople. Religious types are unfailingly intuitive, often following the dictates of their conscience against what seems logical or systematic.

It all comes down to theodicy and theological anthropology. If you believe in a God who is present, who intervenes, or has been incarnate in human form, to some extent you believe in the Adjustment Bureau. What I like about the film is it suggests human error and random chance are the inevitable result of a species struggling to maturity. This world is all part of The Plan, not the result of The Fall. The film even suggests human beings can change God’s mind—which is not at all incompatible with Jewish and Christian scriptures. The film suggests God and humanity are on an adventure together in which the spiritual is becoming known in the material world. This is a messy process: at times tragic, at times joyful, at times absurd. A metaphysical romantic comedy indeed.

Of Gods and Men: In the Pop Theology review of this film, Richard Lindsay carried on a conversation with Catholic educator and former novice at a Benedictine monastery, Mike Campos. Mike’s insights into the film are truly enlightening and we highly recommend the article. Of Gods and Men is technically a 2010 release: it received the Grand Prix (the second prize) at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, but was not distributed in the United States until February 2011. The film is based on a true story about French Trappist monks in Algeria killed by Islamic militants in 1996. The death of the monks is a cold historical fact, but what makes the film moving on a deep spiritual level is its account of why, given ample opportunity to escape, the monks stayed in their isolated community under the continuing threat of death. The film allows us to get into the rhythm of monastic life as the brothers work, eat, study, and pray together. Not at all a cloistered community, the brothers have become integrated into the life of the small village outside their monastery, and the difference in faiths between the Christian monks and the Muslim villagers has been overcome by their dependence on each other. The monks sell honey in the local market, provide medical care, do acts of charity, and give and receive advice from their Muslim neighbors. The village and the monastery are soon forced to a crisis by the invasion of Islamic militants, who demand a more fundamentalist approach to the faith. Even the Muslims of the village, who do not share the fundamentalists’ zeal, are in danger of torture or beheading. Conditions continue to deteriorate for the monastery, bringing both threats from the Islamic militia and unwanted attention from the Algerian army. The brothers must then wrestle with the possibility of abandoning their monastery and the village or staying and facing almost certain death.

By the end of the film, viewers can begin to understand, based on the monks’ theology, why they decided to stay, even if few of us might share their courage. As Mike Campos explained in his discussion of the film, “[In monastic life] when one relates with the [religious] community—each other, the villagers, the land, the government, the militia—one simply does not leave and sever. In each brother’s individual struggle over whether to leave or to remain, they reconsider what it means to relate, to love, to embody” their faith. “Their decision to stay exposes a deeper commitment to relationships, individuals and people that transcends the momentary crisis of politics.”

The imperative to continue their ministry of prayer, outreach, and daily work is heightened by the threat, until simply performing the mundane tasks of the monastery takes on great importance as an act of resistance to the violence being imposed on their community. The monks’ actions are wholly contradictory to the Western materialist idea that true freedom can only come through unfettered individuality and a kind of grasping relationship with one’s own survival and personal fulfillment. In their act of self-giving, several of the monks express to each other that they feel a sense of freedom and joy. In this way, the film illuminates the great truth from the Gospels, “Whoever tries to save his life shall lose it, and whoever loses his life shall preserve it.”

The Tree of Life: Winner of this year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes, this was one of the most artistically polarizing films of 2011. Distinct camps formed between those who loved the film’s long discursions into cosmic history and non-linear narrative of a family told through cinematography rather than words, and those who found the film incomprehensible and self-indulgent. We here at Pop Theology were of the camp that concluded director Terrence Malick has made a spiritual masterpiece, and the best film of the year. The Tree of Life begins with God’s rejoinder to a complaining Job: “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation…While the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?” From there it places the coming-of-age struggles of a Texas family in the 1950’s, particularly the clan’s oldest boy, Jack, against the entire drama of Nature, including the cosmic history of the Big Bang, the creation of life, and evolution. In the family sequences, Brad Pitt nearly vanishes into his role as the disciplinarian father. His buzzed hair, jutting jaw, the cut of his clothes, even the way he carries himself, are an encapsulation of the mid-Twentieth Century men that were so many of our fathers and grandfathers. He loves his kids and his wife, struggles to feed them, feels frustrated and unfulfilled in his work, and doesn’t have a speck of emotional intelligence to save him. As the mother of the family (played by Jessica Chastain) narrates, “We were told there were two ways of life, the way of Grace and the way of Nature.” As embodied by the mother, Grace sees beauty in all things. As embodied by the father, Nature is self-serving and often frustrated. Rather than embracing the unique spirits and natures of his children, he forces them into a mold based on hard work, self-reliance, and repression of feeling that he can’t even fit into himself.

The dialogue is sparse, mostly overheard or spoken in the characters’ minds. Much of the speech seems to be in the form of questions posed to God. In the midst of the family drama, Malick and his photographer Emanuel Lubezki capture the movement of trees, grass, seaweed, and water; patterns of light on concrete, through glass, and through hands and fingers held against the sun; buildings of steel, wood, and stucco; flocks of birds in flight, jellyfish, snakes, even dinosaurs; and a vast ballet of stars and nebulae. This is accompanied by music from the most celestial composers: Mahler, Respighi, Holst, Bach, Berlioz, Smetana, Tavener, and Górecki, among others. It’s a film that gives the viewer time to contemplate the iconography of the Cathedral of the Universe. The Hollywood melodrama has historically been a means of taking difficult social issues and dealing with them through domestic situations. In The Tree of Life, the entire history of the universe and all the deep questions of humanity are filtered through the life of one family. In this sense, Malick may have created something completely new: a cosmic melodrama.

Hugo: Next to Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life, Martin Scorsese‘s Hugo is perhaps one of the most visually stunning films of the year. Like few filmmakers have as of late, Scorsese employs 3D technology to serve his story and, by extension, the audience. For the average moviegoer, Hugo will be the most entertaining film history lesson they could have. Other filmmakers have blended film history and fantasy together, but few have done so as movingly as Scorsese. While viewers will no doubt be drawn to and enraptured by the visuals, the film has a captivating story that raises several important “points” about the human experience. Hugo tells the story of Hugo Cabret, an orphan living in the attic of a train station. His deceased father was something of a tinkerer, who had created a mysterious automoton that Hugo (Asa Butterfield) is not trying to re-animate. Hugo hides most often and observes the world around him. His two (potential) enemies are the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen) and the owner of a toy store in the station (Sir Ben Kingsley). His search for the key to the automoton brings him to the attention of the toy store owner. Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz), the toy store owner’s granddaughter befriends Hugo and draws him further into her grandfather’s life. We soon learn that her grandfather, Papa Georges, is actually Georges Melies, a “father of cinema,” particularly  special effects, sci-fi, and fantasy.

Scorsese beautifully re-creates some of Georges Melies early silent films, providing us with an imaginative glimpse “behind-the-scenes” of classic, silent films. He also integrates scenes from these actual films into his own.  More than that, the other plot lines in the film, specifically the Station Inspector’s attraction to Lisette (Emily Mortimer) and Monsieur Frick’s (Richard Griffiths) attraction to Madame Emilie (Frances de la Tour), actually play out like silent films that Hugo, and the audience, watch develop over the course of the larger narrative. I could go on and on about the beauty of Scrosese’s film (and perhaps I should), but I think it is especially relevant to this discussion because it provides insight into the artistic medium that we are most fond of here at Pop Theology and one of the most influential in pop culture at large.

Of course, Hugo’s experiences carry with them several important reminders. All of us, even the orphans in hiding, have value and purpose in this life. We “fit” into the grand scheme of things (whatever that may be) in integral ways. Part of this should be to help remind or tell people of their own worth and value. Of course, we need to be reminded too…much like Hugo does with Papa Georges. As always, these reminders play out much more beautifully on the 3D big screen. Perhaps it sounds trite here, but in a world built on devaluing ourselves and the other, this message could not be more profound or prophetic.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams: Few filmmakers could make a documentary, let alone a feature film, about 32,000 years old cave drawings entertaining. Werner Herzog might be the only one. Though Cave of Forgotten Dreams is an informative look back to a distant time and place, it is simultaneously a timeless, contemplative reflection on the nature of human identity. In 1994, three independent explorers discovered a cave in southern France, the entrance of which had collapsed some 20,000 years ago keeping both it and its hidden treasures preserved all along. The cave houses some of the oldest, if not the oldest, works of art known to humanity. The prehistoric drawings in Chauvet Cave feature images of bison, mammoths, lions, deer, rhinoceroses, and even a bison/woman hybrid. Alongside these images lie the bones of various now-extinct animals and beautiful, glittering calcium deposits. Scientists suspect that early humans did not live in the cave but perhaps used it for painting, ritual, or religious purposes.

In conversation with the documentarian, Jean Clottes, one of the earliest scientists to study the caves, tells Herzog that he feels like homo-sapien (the man who knows) is a far too inadequate description of the human species. Rather, he argues, we might best be described as homo-spiritualis (you define it). He also argues that two things are apparent from his studies of the Chauvet Cave drawings: these prehistoric humans understood fluidity and permeability. That is, distinctions like male and female or person and animal or human and nature or even this world and the spiritual did not matter. Humans could “communicate” with the “other side” and with nature. Hybrid artworks like the partial bison/woman figure at Chauvet point to a blurring of the lines…or a fluidity of life that escapes most of us today. Of course, the spiritual and/or religious assumptions about that time can run in countless directions.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams is as beautiful a film as the drawings on which Herzog focuses. It benefits from cinematography that is as moving and haunting as the score that accompanies it. My only regret is that I missed it in 3D, a version of the film that would have no doubt lent both a sense of size and texture to the cave drawings that I missed out on by watching it at home. The medium of Herzog’s art, film, also opens up questions about the permanence of his work and, by extension, our role as observers in relation to the drawings. With a film as moving as Cave of Forgotten Dreams, one hopes that it has as permanent a place in the history of humanity as the drawings that grace its frames.

Courageous: One of these films is not like the others. We recognize that it will be laughable to many readers that we included this film on our list. There’s so much wrong with Sherwood Pictures‘ filmmaking philosophy, but there’s so much, at least technically, right with this film, especially when compared to their previous releases. At heart, there’s nothing wrong with Sherwood Pictures or the Kendrick brothers’ messages of being better spouses or, here, parents. So much of it just gets lost in the execution and prostelytizing.

In Courageous, the Kendrick brothers focus on a group of law enforcement officers and the trials on the streets and their troubles at home. To varying degrees, they have dysfunctional families spanning absentee fathers to keds feeling like they cannot connect with their parents at home. When tragedy strikes one of the families, the father, Adam (Alex Kendrick), enters into a six-week study period where he turns to Scripture to find inspiration to be a better husband and father. In fact, the scene in which Adam consults with his pastor is one of the best scenes in all of contemporary Christian cinema as the pastor leaves space for Adam to grieve. As a result, he crafts a resolution that states as much. Adam presents it to his friends David (Ben Davies), Shane (Kevin Downes), Nathan (Ken Bevel), and Javier (Robert Amaya), all of whom agree to sign it and hold each other accountable to its standards. When Nathan shows it to his wife Kayla (Eleanor Brown), she tells him that they need to make it official…that something like this requires a ceremony. So the four men dress up and participate in a ceremony in which they each recite the vows in The Resolution before God, their families, and each other.

The on-screen theology of Courageous is a bit more complex than Sherwood’s previous films as the filmmakers present it in some subtle and not-so-subtle ways. The characters here are far more sympathetic than the leads in Flywheel, Facing the Giants, or Fireproof. While their Christian faith is important to their lives, they do not seem to expect God to do everything for them. They take initiative in their lives. Javier may pray to God for help in finding a job, but that does not stop him from pounding the pavement in search of one. Adam cries out to God in anguish over the death of his daughter, but he also searches scripture for inspiration to be a better husband and father in order to help Victoria and Dylan heal. These are characters who put their faith in action rather than passively waiting for God to solve everything. Unfortunately, the requisite moment of salvation scene that has become a fixture of sorts in Sherwood Pictures’ films is far less subtle, bringing the flow of the film to a screeching halt.

Richard pointed out that Courageous shows, with more clarity, the evangelical Christian claim that Hollywood does not reflect the values of a large segment of the American population. The kind of characters and actors in this film would never be in Hollywood films. They look like normal people. People pray all the time in real life. They go to church. They struggle over personal morality. Hollywood rarely depicts any of this. When they do, it’s always the stereotype of the hypocritical religious leader or mindless followers. To some extent, Hollywood claims to reflect America, and in some ways claims to “invent” America. To the extent that they ignore white, or even more diverse, Red Staters that go to church, it fails to reflect real life in America. What Sherwood is doing in making this kind of independent film is the same thing small-time gay, or ethnic, or women filmmakers have been trying to do in countering the dominant narrative that Hollywood creates. The difference is that Sherwood probably sees themselves as the “real” America, rather than one perspective among many, which is what they really are. They are really a kind of ethnic cinema.

Red State: Speaking of red states, only one other film on the list is as disturbing as Kevin Smith‘s (that religious provocateur) Red State. It deserves a spot on this list because it reveals the violent potential inherent in religious fundamentalism and just how quickly it can all go awry. At the same time, it reveals his prophetic nature as a filmmaker and makes his immanent “departure” from the filmmaking world all the more unfortunate.  There’s a tradition of reading some of Jesus’ more intense sayings as prophetic hyperbole. That is, when Jesus in Mark 9:47, “If your eye causes you to stumble, throw it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye, than, having two eyes, to be cast into hell,” he doesn’t really mean that we should all run around plucking out eyeballs or cutting off body parts. No one…even the most conservative Christians…believes that. Jesus is being hyperbolic here in an effort to encourage his followers to take their lives, and the inevitable sin in them, seriously. Just because we don’t take this passage literally, doesn’t mean we don’t take it seriously. I would argue that this notion of prophetic hyperbole is an appropriate lens through which to view Kevin Smith’s latest film, a disturbing thriller about an extremely violent, fundamentalist Christian sect.

There are really only three things that mark this as a Kevin Smith film: rapid dialogue, a wealth of cursing, and some dark humor. Other than that, he’s in some pretty new (aside from the commentary on religion) territory. He’s doing a gritty thriller, action movie unlike anything he’s ever done before…and he kicks the proverbial door down with it. Unlike so many action movies that make the audience feel like they’re sitting in the middle of a blender, Smith and director of photography David Klein somehow manage to keep everything in extreme focus even as the action is moving at break-neck speed. There might have been a few actors who could have fit these roles, but I doubt that the film would have been as effective without the cast Smith assembled here, particularly Michael Parks, Melissa Leo, and John Goodman. Parks won’t get, but certainly deserves, an Oscar nod, especially for the lengthy sermon scene in which we first meet him. The hymns and scriptures roll off of his tongue like poison-laced honey.

And of course there’s the whole religion thing. As we mentioned above, Smith is engaging in prophetic hyperbole here. He doesn’t believe all conservative, radically evangelical Christians are gun-toting nut-jobs. Even as Abin and his Five Points community closely mirror Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, KS, Smith gives Keenan a line in which he tells his superior that, unlike the Five Points congregation, the Phelps community hasn’t amassed firearms. However, like Phelps, Abin and his followers reveal the ability of some Christians to embrace the letter of the Word without understanding its Spirit. Abin can quote scripture until kingdom come (an event he’s eagerly awaiting), but he leaves no room for the love or grace of God to move among either his congregants or especially unbelievers.

In a rather subtle way, Smith refuses to damn “the opposition,” even as they are eager to damn him. Towards the beginning of the film, Travis et al’s high school teacher lectures on the Constitution. Of course her major discussion point is the freedom of religion and as the scene fades out, the class touches on the Second Amendment. While she claims that Abin and his crew have every constitutional right to express their beliefs, she certainly thinks the world would be a better place without them (“The Nazis have even alienated themselves from Abin and Five Points”). Unlike this teacher, Keenan (and Smith?) view the opposing sides in much more complex ways. In a time when we have political candidates running on, essentially, theocratic platforms, Red State reveals yet again the danger of fundamental religious absolutism, especially when it has access to multiple forms of power.

Drive: There’s nothing specifically religious about Nicolas Winding Refn‘s film about a mysterious get-away driver, but it does raise some potentially large spiritual and theological issues. Like Red State, Drive can be brutally violent, but its characters’ experiences of that violence are much more ambiguous. In this world, shit happens, people get caught in the wrong places at the wrong time, and seemingly quiet, docile characters snap in brutal fashion without any warning. The great thing about Drive is that it refuses to tell us almost as much as it tells us. The film “focuses” on Driver (we don’t even get a real name for Ryan Gosling‘s character), a young man who drives stunt cars in movies by day and get-away cars by night. He’s quiet and punctual (either side of the agreed upon time for you to do your job and you’re on your own). He develops a gentle friendship with his neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) who lives alone with her young son, Benicio (Kaden Leos). Their husband/father Standard (Oscar Isaac) is in prison…of course, for what we’re not exactly sure. When Standard is released from prison, he signs on for one last job for a mobster to get free of his debts. Driver agrees to help him out. Things go drastically wrong, and Driver finds himself more deeply involved with gangsters Bernie Rose (Albert Brooks) and Nino (Ron Perlman) than he had initially planned. Despite the risks, he plays it out to the bitter end to save Irene and Benicio from harm.

Even though there’s little action here, a key interest here for the filmmakers seems to be violence. While there’s not a lot of that either, compared to other crime, noir, or “car chase” films, the violence present in the film is, thankfully, unflinchingly realistic. Some of the violence comes from expected places like gangsters lashing out at people who might stand in their way. Some of it comes from characters being in the wrong place at the wrong time, e.g. Christina Hendricks‘ Blanche. Far more interesting are the sudden eruptions of violence from Driver, not because they are exceptionally graphic but because of what they reveal about and add to his personality. For the majority of the film, Driver keeps everything (his surroundings and personality) in check. But when they both get out of control, he reveals a volcanic level of violence that he’s been reining in for both his (perhaps) and Irene and Benicio’s benefit. If we can put it this way, the violence here is “good” because it is realistic, disturbing, and consequential. We see flowing blood, exploding skulls, and the like…most of which are conspicuously absent in most PG-13 or R-rated films.

With its avoidance of cartoonish violence and the accompanying implications of heroism and humanity being bound up in violent actions, Drive also sheds light on the “dark side” of a frequent theological interpretation of many films and genres. There’s a tendency among many Christian critics and viewers of “hero” films to view the lead character, say Batman or Superman, as a Christ figure. The problem is, the great majority of these characters are almost always violent and consistently so. This is something that Jesus never was, and, unless you subscribe to Mark Driscoll’s theology, something that the Christ is not. There could be the temptation her to view Driver as something of a Christ figure: he’s an outsider, mysterious, his arrival is inexplicable, he defends the vulnerable, he (potentially) sacrifices himself. But his treatment of his enemies, and most importantly the way in which those actions are portrayed in the film, both finds the comparison wanting and should shed light on the problematic comparisons that are so often made in other films.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to share some of your favorites from 2011 below.

In 1994, three independent explorers discovered a cave in southern France, the entrance of which had collapsed some 20,000 years ago keeping both it and its hidden treasures preserved all along. The cave houses some of the oldest, if not the oldest, works of art known to humanity. The prehistoric drawings in Chauvet Cave feature images of bison, mammoths, lions, deer, rhinoceroses, and even a bison/woman hybrid. The cave walls also feature (seemingly) sporadic hand prints throughout its various rooms by an artist with a crooked little finger. Alongside these images lie the bones of various now-extinct animals and beautiful, glittering calcium deposits. Scientists suspect that early humans did not live in the cave but perhaps used it for painting, ritual, or religious purposes. Long-preserved footprints of both humans and animals weave their way throughout the cave. Again, through various dating practices (some of which are under debate), scientists date these drawings to as far back as 32,000 years ago with some of the drawings taking place over 5,000 years apart.

The multiple images of the rhinoceros on the right suggest an attempt to capture movement.

The first striking feature of the Chauvet Cave drawings are their beauty and symmetry, both of which stand in stark contrast to any sort of evolutionary notion of art history. These artists may have been prehistoric, but they were not simple-minded. Second, is the reality that these artists attempted to capture motion in their drawings. An animal with six legs or multiple heads is not some extinct species with which they would have been familiar, but rather an animal running. Herzog refers to these images a proto-cinema. Whatever you call them, they shed light on the intelligence, conscience, experience, and shared meaning among some of our most distant ancestors.

Herzog's (left) documentaries are not immune to his idiosyncracies. Here he is displaying a prehistoric flute alongside an experimental archaeologist.

In conversation with geologists, archaeologists, scientists, and the like, Herzog speculates on what life might have been like for these artists. While certain geographical realities like a glacier-covered Europe (in some places as thick as 2,500 meters) give us an idea of their day to day existence, Herzog is more concerned with the unknowable and hence dwells in a creative agnosticism. These dreams are forgotten after all. What these images do point towards is prehistoric humans with, perhaps, a better understanding of the interconnectedness of all of life than we more evolved iterations of the species could ever have.

In conversation with the documentarian, Jean Clottes, one of the earliest scientists to study the caves, tells Herzog that he feels like homo-sapien (the man who knows) is a far too inadequate description of the human species. Rather, he argues, we might best be described as homo-spiritualis (you define it). He also argues that two things are apparent from his studies of the Chauvet Cave drawings: these prehistoric humans understood fluidity and permeability. That is, distinctions like male and female or person and animal or human and nature or even this world and the spiritual did not matter. Humans could “communicate” with the “other side” and with nature. Hybrid artworks like the partial bison/woman figure at Chauvet point to a blurring of the lines…or a fluidity of life that escapes most of us today. Of course, the spiritual and/or religious assumptions about that time can run in countless directions.

This is the beauty of Herzog’s film…as it is with most of his documentaries…which feels more like a lingering question(s) rather than definitive statements (e.g. Michael Moore‘s documentaries). In often humorous and always sincere ways, Herzog makes a handful of observations and poses a series of questions that inevitably beg more. While he is of course concerned with the Chauvet Cave drawings (and other prehistoric artifacts in surrounding areas), he is pointing his camera at nothing less that the question of what it means to be human, a task for which few filmmakers are as well equipped to undertake as Herzog.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams is as beautiful a film as the drawings on which Herzog focuses. It benefits from cinematography that is as moving and haunting as the score that accompanies it. My only regret is that I missed it in 3D, a version of the film that would have no doubt lent both a sense of size and texture to the cave drawings that I missed out on by watching it at home. The medium of Herzog’s art, film, also opens up questions about the permanence of his work and, by extension, our role as observers in relation to the drawings. With a film as moving as Cave of Forgotten Dreams, one hopes that it has as permanent a place in the history of humanity as the drawings that grace its frames.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams (90 mins.) is available on DVD and streaming on Netflix.

After the classic focus-on-the-dancing-feet montage reminiscent of the 1984 version of Footloose, the film opens with a close-up on the preacher’s grief-stricken face.  Rev. Shaw Moore (Dennis Quaid) stands behind the pulpit of his South Georgia church and proclaims, “God is testing us…there is a lesson we can learn from this tragedy.”  As in the 1984 classic, five teenagers from Bomont High are tragically killed while driving home from a dance.  Rev. Moore’s son, Bobby, is one of the five teens who dies.  As a response, the city council banns loud music and unsupervised public dancing by minors.  With no one to blame, dancing becomes the scapegoat of tragedy.  Ren MacCormack (Kenny Wormald) moves to Bomont from Boston after the death of his mother.  He challenges the city’s antiquated law and wins the heart of the preacher’s daughter, Ariel (Julianne Hough).

Ren (Kenny Wormald) and Ariel (Julianne Hough) get a little bit closer in this version of "Footloose."

I’ll admit my own hesitation in watching a remake of a movie that defined my adolescence as a Gen-Xer.  I entered the theatre wondering if Kenny Wormald could compete with his predecessor, the beloved Kevin Bacon.  Would his solo dancing in the abandoned warehouse compare with the classic 80s moves of Bacon?  Would I want to show the clip of his impassioned speech at town council when teaching about the intersections of dance and religion?  Could he be so cheesy, yet so effective?

While it seemed that the dialogue was copied almost word-for-word from the 1984 version and the dancing was simply updated to include more booty dance and krumping, I was surprised at some of my own visceral reactions to the new rendition of my beloved classic.  Interestingly, a large part of this meaningful reaction stems from my own experience introducing dance in a South Georgia Baptist church.  Apparently, Ren MacCormack and I share more than an affinity for vintage knock-off Ray-Ban sunglasses.

At the age of 18 I was hired by a Baptist church in South Georgia to serve as their youth minister.  I was also a professional dancer at the time.  It was the beginning of my time fusing together these seemingly disparate professions: dancer and minister.  Like MacCormack, I’ve given many impassioned speeches about the role of dance in scripture to wary audiences.

Miriam, Jephthah’s daughter, David, the Psalmist, the Shulamite, Judith, Salome, and even Jesus in the Apocryphal Acts of John were all dancers found in scripture.  In the same way that Rev. Moore neglected and ignored these dancers that fill the bible, so too, do most preachers and scholars of religion forget our dancing tradition.  Would the county-seat church in Bomont have banned dancing if these dancing stories from scripture were preached from the pulpit on a regular basis?  Would these Southern Christians decry dancing if they’d learned that there are eleven Hebrew verbs for our one English word “dance” found in the Hebrew bible and that every Hebrew and Greek word for “worship” and “praise” is embodied?  If the folks in the pews knew that the word for “worship” literally means to “prostrate and bow down,” that the words translated as “praise” literally means “to kneel, bless,” or “to confess with outstretched hands,” would they be so skeptical and fearful of dance and embodiment?  If the church acknowledged that the Apocryphal Acts of John 94-95 records Jesus as saying, “Grace dances, so dance ye all…those who dance not, know not what is to come,” then we may not detest dancing and the body quite so much.  The scriptural and historical reasons could continue.

For example a myriad of early church fathers wrote about the importance of dance in the Christian church.  Lucian of Samosata (125-180) stated, “Dance is not merely a pleasure; it is an act good for the soul.”[1]  Clement of Alexandria (150-216) in his Address to the Heathens, said, “This is the mountain beloved of God…and there revel on it…daughters of God, the fair lambs, who celebrate the holy rites of the Word, raising a sober choral dance.”[2]  Furthermore, Ambrose (338-397) requested that persons about to be baptized approach the font dancing.[3]  And even Augustine (354-430), a theologian responsible for shaping much of Christianity, spoke of the relationship between dance and faith, writing, “He [sic] who dances obeys…In our case dancing means changing the manner of our life…when God called the tune, he [sic] hearkened and began to dance.”[4] For more reflections on dance from early church fathers, see the quotes at the end of the article.

Rev. Shaw Moore (Dennis Quaid) represents a certain type of Christianity that ignores a significant pro-dance history.

Not only did the early church support dance as worship, but it continued into the Early Medieval period.  Archbishop Isidore of Seville composed sacred choreography and incorporated it into the Mozarabic Rite that is still celebrated three times per year in the Cathedral of Seville.[5]  Another example is that Pope Gregory IV (827-844) inaugurated the Children’s Festival in honor of Pope Gregory the Great where children danced in worship.[6] Continuing into the Late Medieval Period (1100-1400), the most prominent form of dance was the Dance of Death, “danse macabre,” where death dances forth to claim the lives of those stricken with the Bubonic Plague.[7]  Also during the Late Medieval Period, cloistered nuns danced on the Feasts of Holy Innocents, priests danced on the Feast of St. Nicholas, Pope Urban IV (1264) created the Corpus Christi procession dance to celebrate the Eucharist, and labyrinth dances were popular in church yards.[8]  A dance step that has continued until today, the oldest liturgical dance step, stems from the work of John Beleth, the University of Paris rector, who inaugurated the tripudia.[9]  And it is during this period that Dante describes dancing as “the occupation of those in paradise.”[10]

We move from the Late Medieval Period into the Renaissance (1400-1700) where processionals, moral ballets, and dance as hymn and psalm interpretation are prevalent in worship.  Cardinal Ximenes (1436-1517) choreographed “seises” dances to be performed seven time per year and Pope Eugenius IV saw these seises and issued a papal bull authorizing their dances.[11]  Beginning the Protestant tradition, Martin Luther, admonishes dance in his 1525 carol “On Heaven High” in addition to writing about it in a letter to his little son, Hans, describing heaven as a place of happy dancing. (See another Luther quote on dance below). Additionally, Cardinal Borromeo, commissioned a dance for the canonization of Ignatius of Loyola in 1610.[12]  And as the Renaissance draws to a close, the Council of Trent (1545-1563) condemned dance, even though it ended with a lavish ball.[13]

During the Post Renaissance, the Jesuits stylized the famous five positions of ballet under the leadership of Charles Beauchamp, and the Jesuit’s college ballets could be compared to the court ballets of their day.  In fact, King Louis XIV said, “there is no one like the Jesuits for doing pirouettes.”[14]  On the whole there was a decline in liturgical dancing due to the shift toward word oriented liturgy, as the Roman Catholic Church became more centrally authoritative, and Puritans condemned the lust of the flesh; however, John Cotton, a New England Puritan, stated, “Dancing I would not simply condemn, for I see two sorts of dancing in use with God’s people in the OT.”[15]  Cotton Mather, another Puritan, wrote “An Arrow Against Profane and Promiscuous Dancing,” and condemned only dancing that aroused the passions.[16]  Furthermore, the Shakers, founded 1747, were known for their unique, shaking dances in worship.[17]  There were circle dances in camp meetings of Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians during the Second Great Awakening.

I share these glimpses into the dancing history of Christianity simply to say that Ren MacCormack is not alone in quoting from Ecclesiastes, reminding the people of Bomont that there is a time weep and a time to dance.  “There was a time for those laws, but not anymore,” Ren claims, “this is our time to live, our time to dance.”  Ren experienced resistance from a small town in South Georgia and so did I, but ultimately, we both danced.  And I am convinced that our dancing made those small towns better places.

Was the new Footloose fantastically cheesy?  Yes.  Does it compare with the iconic performances from 1984?  Maybe.  Do more small towns and more churches need to acknowledge the vast witness of dance in our histories?  Absolutely.  As a scholar of dance and religion and a pastor of a Baptist church, I see Footloose as a gateway into discussions about the importance of dance in our lives, our worship, and our history.  So, kick off your Sunday shoes…and dance!

Footloose (113 mins.) is rated PG-13 for some teen drug and alcohol use, sexual content, violence, and language and is currently playing in theaters everywhere.

If you’re interested, here are some further reflections on dance and the church:

• Hippolytus’s (170-236) Easter hymn of praise sings, “O thou leader of the mystic round dance” when referring to God. [18]
• Eusebius of Caesarea (264-339) speaks of dance as worship when he says, “With dances and hymns, in city and country, they glorified first of all God the universal King.” [19]
• Jerome (340-407), who is known for disdaining the body, stated, “In the Church the joy of the spirit finds expression in bodily gestures and her children shall say with David as they dance the solemn step: ‘I will dance and play before the face of the Lord.’” [20]
• Basil the Great (344-407) described dance in the church beautifully when he writes, “We remember those who now, together with the Angels, dance the dance of the Angels around God, just as in the heavenly dance…Could there be anything more blessed than to imitate on earth the ring-dance of the angels and at dawn to raise our voices in prayer and by hymns and song glorify the rising Creator.” [21]
• In Gregory of Nyssa’s Homily on the Psalms he writes, “Once there was a time when the whole of rational creation formed a single dancing chorus looking upwards to the one leader of this dance. And the harmony of that motion which was imparted to them by reason of his [sic] law found its way into their dancing.” [22]
• Luther writes about dance in a sermon for Epiphany II: “…because it is the custom of the country, just like inviting guests, dressing up, eating, drinking, and making merry, I can’t bring myself to condemn it, unless it gets out of hand, and so causes immoralities or excess.  And even though sin has taken place in this way, it’s not the fault of dancing alone.  Provided they don’t jump on tables dancing in the church…But so long as it’s done decently, I respect the rights and customs of weddings—and I dance, anyway!” [23]

Unlike their previous three films, co-writers/brothers Alex and Stephen Kendrick broaden their narrative to focus on five families, four husbands of which are law enforcement officers with the Albany police. Adam (played by co-writer, director, and producer Alex), Nathan (Ken Bevel of Fireproof), Shane (Kevin Downes), and David (Ben Davies) are policemen with varying levels of experience and various levels of family dysfunction. David has an illegitimate daughter with whom he has never had a relationship…he left her mother before she was born. Shane is divorced and up to his neck in alimony. Adam is distant from his children–he won’t run with his son or dance with his daughter–as his work keeps him busy and tires him out. Nathan is the moral and spiritual backbone of the group and his family, a responsibility he embraces because he knows the pain of growing up with an absentee father. The fifth family is the Martinez family, headed by Javier (Robert Amaya), a down-on-his-luck construction worker who, by luck or divine providence, lands a job working for Adam who eventually finds him a job at the local string factory.

Tragedy strikes the group when Adam’s daughter Emily (Lauren Etchells) is killed in a car accident with a drunk driver. Adam, his wife Victoria (Renee Jewell), and son Dylan (Rusty Martin) enter a downward spiral of grief and confusion. Adam visits his pastor for counseling and receives some helpful advice. The pastor tells him he can either be thankful for the time he had with Emily or angry for the time he no longer has with her. When the pastor asks Adam what he wants, he tells him that he wants to be a better husband and father and to help his wife and son heal. Adam enters into a six-week study period where he turns to Scripture to find inspiration to be a better husband and father. As a result, he crafts a resolution that states as much. Adam presents it to David, Shane, Nathan, and Javier, all of whom agree to sign it and hold each other accountable to its standards. When Nathan shows it to his wife Kayla (Eleanor Brown), she tells him that they need to make it official…that something like this requires a ceremony. So the four men dress up and participate in a ceremony in which they each recite the vows in The Resolution before God, their families, and each other.

Sherwood Pictures' latest release is more action-packed than their previous films. Adam (Alex Kendrick) in the climactic shoot out.

Of course, trials and tests face each of them throughout the second half of the film. David takes the steps to reconnect with his daughter and her mother. Nathan works to “protect” his teenage daughter from the advances of an unwelcome suitor (who we know to be a member of a gang that the Albany Police are tracking). Javier is offered a promotion at work but is asked to lie on a shipping report in order to get it.  Adam still grieves the loss of his daughter while also working to establish a stronger relationship with his son. Of the four friends, Shane fails to live up to his side of the bargain as Adam catches him engaging in some unethical dealings at work. After a climactic shoot out scene in which Adam, David, and Nathan capture the two leaders of the gang as well as the young man who wanted to date Nathan’s daughter, the film ends with Adam standing before a large congregation preaching about their Resolution and challenging the men in the church to take a stand and be better fathers and husbands.

In its third week of release, Courageous has already earned just over $21 million. This represents a sizeable audience and, against a $2 million production budget, a decent return on their investment. The production budget was money well spent because Courageous is Sherwood Pictures’ most technically accomplished and aesthetically pleasing film thus far. Its cinematography is on par with many larger Hollywood productions, and it even contains a few truly inspired action and dramatic sequences. On the whole, the acting is solid and the performances and dialogue feel far less stiff or forced than those of their predecessors. Unlike previous Sherwood productions, Courageous has several genuinely funny moments that provide welcome relief from what is, at heart, a genuinely emotional, and at times depressing, film. All of this makes the critical backlash to the film all the more surprising.

To “attack” the film for preaching to the choir or being too heavy-handed is to blatantly miss the filmmakers’ intentions. Like Fireproof, Sherwood Pictures knows that it has a tool for both evangelism and discipleship on its hands. Adam’s closing line, “Where are you men of courage?!,” is addressed to both the congregation in the film and the audience in the theaters. Reports are circling around the internet of men standing up at the end of the film as a way to respond to this cinematic challenge. Churches have embraced the ministry resources published alongside the film and started small groups around the film.

Adam (Alex Kendrick) challenges the men of his church to be courageous leaders.

The on-screen theology of Courageous is a bit more complex as the filmmakers present it in some subtle and not-so-subtle ways. The characters here are far more sympathetic than the leads in Flywheel, Facing the Giants, or Fireproof. While their Christian faith is important to their lives, they do not seem to expect God to do everything for them. They take initiative in their lives. Javier may pray to God for help in finding a job, but that does not stop him from pounding the pavement in search of one. Adam cries out to God in anguish over the death of his daughter, but he also searches scripture for inspiration to be a better husband and father in order to help Victoria and Dylan heal. These are characters who put their faith in action rather than passively waiting for God to solve everything.

Far less subtle is the moment of salvation scene that has become a fixture of sorts in Sherwood Pictures’ films. It is a clearer message here than in Fireproof, but, unfortunately, because of that clarity feels much more forced in the process. In a scene that could have been left out without damaging the plot or narrative, Nathan and David are at a shooting range. Apropos of nothing, David expresses his skepticism of Nathan and Adam’s faith. This opens up the opportunity for Nathan (and by extension the Kendrick brothers and Sherwood Baptist Church) to share a gospel message. When David says something to the effect of his good “acts” outweigh his bad, Nathan pounces on the opportunity and uses it as an entryway to talk about God being a good and perfect judge. He presents a hypothetical scenario in which David’s mother is brutally attacked. The attacker is put on trial, and the judge lets him go because the good in his life outweighs the bad. David agrees that this would not be a good judge. Nathan tells him that God does not operate that way…that God punishes evildoers. Fortunately, Jesus died to take away that punishment and bear that burden. The scene transitions before we see David make a profession of faith, although he does tell Nathan that he understands what he is telling him. As the film progresses, David begins to reconnect with his daughter and her mother. The (un)intended implication here, however, is that there can be no good, ethical, or moral behavior apart from a specifically Christian context of salvation and substitutionary atonement.

Nathan (Ken Bevel) tells David (Ben Davies) about his relationship with Jesus.

A religious/theological highlight of Courageous is the scene in which Adam visits his pastor for counseling after the death of his daughter. Pastor Hunt (Ed Litton) provides some welcome Christian advice, certainly the least offensive in nearly all of Christian cinema. Pastor Hunt gives Adam space to grieve and refuses to gloss over the tragedy of Emily’s death by chalking it up to God’s will or by promising that God would work something good out of her death. He does, however, claim that this loss might open up a closer relationship to God because Adam, and his family, would need to rely on God for comfort and healing more than they ever had to before. Though Pastor Hunt says that Adam can either be thankful for time spent with Emily or angry about time lost, he does not imply that Adam does not have a right to be angry. It seems, rather, that he does not want Adam to become mired in anger which could begin to harm the remaining relationships with his wife and son. That divorce is rampant in contemporary American society is undeniable. That couples who lose children often divorce is also not surprising. As a result, Courageous’ representation of a couple who “toughs it out” is a welcome vision of healing in the midst of loss and grief and the ability of love and faith to guide them through that.

However, Sherwood might be leaning too heavily on its insistence that families must have a father present. The police chief sites statistics about fatherless homes contributing to teens turning to a life of crime, Nathan repeatedly says that the absence of his father scarred him in so many ways he cannot number them, and David fears that his absence from his daughter’s life will do irreparable harm to her. There can be no doubt that single-parent homes are difficult on both the child and the parent. Increasingly, two-parent homes are far less ideal as both parents must work to support the family, leaving the children in the care of, hopefully, loving relatives or competent childcare givers. The insistence on fathers, or gender diverse parents, skews research that simply claims that children benefit from two parents, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. Not surprisingly, their intense focus on fathers and fatherhood promotes a patriarchal system that has long been a point of contention for more moderate to liberal Christians. Adam et al’s resolution insists that men stand up and take their rightful place as head (spiritual, financial,e tc.) of their household. There is no room for a stay-at-home dad here, at least as far as Courageous portrays it. There is no sense that the women in the film have lives outside of the home either. While we do see a woman in the police force, the wives of the three main characters seem to exist solely for the sake of their husband, children, and  the domestic space.

Finally, it is worth noting that a key absence in the film again signals Sherwood’s commitment to family values. With three loving, seemingly happy married couples at the center of the film, at no point do any of them make intimate physical contact beyond hugging one another. When Emily dies, Adam and Victoria briefly embrace each other. Nathan and Kayla barely ever touch each other. When Javier returns form his surprise job working for Adam, Carmen tells him that she could kiss him but that he is too hot and sweaty. When Javier leaves in the morning for his new job at the string factory, he tells Carmen that he could kiss her but her breath smells too bad. This allows the filmmakers to imply physical contact between actors who are not married to one another in real life without actually having them forsake their real-world vows. Of course, this all is a continuation of the silhouetted kiss scene between Kirk Cameron and his real-world wife in Fireproof which swings the pendulum from the offensive to the unreal.

Thinking back Courageous and looking back on these reactions to it, I don’t see them as criticisms as much as points of conversation. I enjoyed this film far more than their previous releases. Should Sherwood Pictures ever figure out how to do without or more subtly integrate the “moment of salvation” scenes into their films then they will go much further towards appealing to a broader audience. I close here with a comment from Pop Theology contributor Richard Lindsay, who saw the film with me. He brings up a spot-on point about both the film and Sherwood Pictures’ desire to counter Hollywood with films of their own. He writes:

Watching this film, I can see with more clarity the claim that Hollywood does not reflect the values of a large segment of the American population. The kind of characters and actors in this film would never be in Hollywood films. They look like normal people. People pray all the time in real life. They go to church. They struggle over personal morality. Hollywood rarely depicts any of this. When they do, it’s always the stereotype of the hypocritical religious leader or mindless followers. It strikes me that to some extent Hollywood claims to reflect America, and in some ways claims to “invent” America. To the extent that they ignore white, or even more diverse, Red Staters that go to church, it fails to reflect real life in America. What Sherwood is doing in making this kind of independent film is the same thing small-time gay, or ethnic, or women filmmakers have been trying to do in countering the dominant narrative that Hollywood creates. The difference, I would think, is that Sherwood probably sees themselves as the “real” America, rather than one perspective among many, which is what they really are. They are really a kind of ethnic cinema.

Courageous (129 minutes–about 15 to many) is rated PG-13 for violence and drug content and is in wide theatrical release.

Driver (Ryan Gosling) develops an interesting relationship with Irene (Carey Mulligan).

Unless you’re going in expecting non-stop action and over-the-top stunts, there’s a lot to love about Drive. First off is the mood and feel of the film, enhanced by both a cool (I use this description intentionally) cinematography and soundtrack. The frequent overhead shots of Los Angeles reminded me a lot of Collateral (2004). The ways in which cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel lingers on the actors, especially Gosling and Mulligan speaks volumes even as their characters so often remain mute thanks to Nicolas Winding Refn‘s direction and Hossein Amini‘s script. The soundtrack is catchy and speaks directly to the action on screen…more on that later. The performances are all perfect, especially Gosling who deserves an Oscar nod for his ability to show rather than tell. Bryan Cranston, as Driver’s sometime mechanic boss Shannon, reveals that he is equally at home on both the big and small screens. It’s always good to see Oscar Isaac on screen, even though he often plays smaller roles, as I’ve been intrigued by him since his performance as Joseph in The Nativity Story (2006). Albert Brooks is surprising, yet believable, in his turn as a likeable, yet menacing, mob partner to Perlman’s Nino, who is just brutal in his quest for some East Coast respect.

Even though there’s little action here, as I mentioned above, a key interest here for the filmmakers seems to be violence. While there’s not a lot of that either, compared to other crime, noir, or “car chase” films, the violence present in the film is, thankfully, unflinchingly realistic. Some of the violence comes from expected places like gangsters lashing out at people who might stand in their way. Some of it comes from characters being in the wrong place at the wrong time, e.g. Christina Hendricks‘ Blanche. Far more interesting are the sudden eruptions of violence from Driver, not because they are exceptionally graphic but because of what they reveal about and add to his personality. For the majority of the film, Driver keeps everything (his surroundings and personality) in check. But when they both get out of control, he reveals a volcanic level of violence that he’s been reining in for both his (perhaps) and Irene and Benicio’s benefit. If I can say this, the violence here is “good” because it is realistic, disturbing, and consequential. We see flowing blood, exploding skulls, and the like…most of which are conspicuously absent in most PG-13 or R-rated films.

There are a couple of theological/spiritual/religious avenues through which to approach this film. Of course, there’s the ever-present conversation about the battle between good and evil and the nature of each. However, the Drive‘s key spiritual/theological theme emerges from a consideration of the repetition of a key song throughout the soundtrack, College’s “A Real Hero.” The chorus of the song goes something like this:

You’ve proved to be a real human being

And a real hero

Part of the song seems to be about Sully Sullenberger’s efforts to save 155 people from a plane crash by landing safely in the Hudson River. In Drive, the song serves a different purpose. Clearly referring to Driver and his efforts to protect Irene and Benicio, the song takes on a completely different meaning. There can be no doubt that Driver is the real hero because he protects the damsel in distress and stands up to the bad guys in ways that mirror so many other hero films. The implication here, of course, is that Driver is also a “real human being” because he is a hero…because he has acted violently in a demanding situation. Read one way, we are human beings, victims and violators, because we are violent. Yet it is violence that threatens our humanity and the interconnectedness that is at the core of our fullest experiences of humanness.

Standard (Oscar Isaac) and Driver (Ryan Gosling) on the eve of destruction.

With its avoidance of cartoonish violence and the accompanying implications of heroism and humanity being bound up in violent actions, Driver also sheds light on the “dark side” of a frequent theological critique of many films and genres. There’s a tendency among many Christian critics and viewers of “hero” films to view the lead character, say Batman or Superman, as a Christ figure. The problem is, the great majority of these characters are almost always violent and consistently so. This is something that Jesus never was, and, unless you subscribe to Mark Driscoll’s theology, something that the Christ is not. There could be the temptation her to view Driver as something of a Christ figure: he’s an outsider, mysterious, his arrival is inexplicable, he defends the vulnerable, he (potentially) sacrifices himself. But his treatment of his enemies, and most importantly the way in which those actions are portrayed in the film, both finds the comparison wanting and should shed light on the problematic comparisons that are so often made in other films.

These are potentially fruitful discussions to be sure, but the pleasure of experiencing Drive lies far more in watching and listening to it than in talking about it…kind of like Driver himself.

Drive (100 mins.) is rated R for strong brutal bloody violence, language and some nudity and is in theaters everywhere.

Higher Ground traces the journey of Corinne, played at various stages of aging by McKenzie Turner, Taissa Farmiga (Vera’s younger sister), and finally Vera Farmiga. As a young girl she attends church, but it only seems to be a safe option to keep her out of her mother’s, Kathleen (Donna Murphy), hair. Things at home are a bit complex. Her father, CW (John Hawkes) and mother seem to be in love with one another, but as the years pass, they grow further and further apart. Kathleen, more of the free spirit, seems to feel hemmed in by CW, something of a homebody. Corinne’s a bit of an outsider at school. Quiet and introverted, she wants to be a writer. Her sister, a bit of a rebel, ridicules her when the school’s cool guitarist, Ethan (Joshua Leonard), falls in love with her. Corinne and Ethan date, get pregnant and then get married. After a car accident that nearly claims the life of their first daughter, they turn their lives over to Jesus and join a highly conservative, evangelical Christian community. Their membership in the community quickly begins to define their lives, individually, as a couple, and as a family. The film focuses on their marriage and their (in)ability to negotiate their faith with the rest of their life. Feeling spiritually, emotionally, physically, and intellectually oppressed by the community to which she belongs, Corinne begins pushing against the leadership and must decide whether or not she will remain in it.

The film benefits from nearly flawless direction by Farmiga and picture perfect performances from lead actors to supporting cast. The cinematography harkens back to the independent religious productions of the ’60s and ’70s, basically summed up by the still below. There’s not a great chance that Higher Ground will play beyond larger cities, so most viewers will need to seek it out on DVD when it releases later this year. From religious, theological, or spiritual perspectives there are nearly countless avenues through which to discuss the film. Richard Lindsay and I highlight a few below.

Pastor Bill (Norbert Leo Butz) and Corinne at worship.

Ryan: I think we have what will be one of the best religious films of the decade. Both Farmiga’s direction and performance has catapulted this film into rarefied religious cinema air alongside the likes of none other than Robert Duval’s The Apostle. Farmiga treats the delicate subject matter with a sense of realism that mirrors Duval’s approach to Pentecostalism. There will, no doubt, be some viewers  who feel like Farmiga is attacking religion here, but I think she’s up to something much more complex. There’s a sincerity here that makes cynicism all but impossible to creep into the film. Ultimately, I think what Farmiga is critical of, and rightfully so, is the vacuity of a particular approach to faith/religion. I know you also have a particular take on this, regarding the inability of a “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” mentality to connect with experiences outside of that community of faith.

Richard: The film had particular resonance for me in its portrayal of the charismatic Christian movement of the 70’s, which, although it took a much less radical form in my family than it did in the movie, was where my faith was incubated. I was one of those kids in the movie singing happy-clappy Jesus songs while my mom went to the women’s fellowship Aglow and my dad went to Full Gospel Business Men’s meetings. They also had the religious instructional tapes (although thankfully a lot less graphic than the evangelical sex instruction tapes in the movie) and groovy versions of the bible like the Good News Bible and The Way. I particularly liked the characters’ discussion of earthquakes in California being a direct result of the state’s immorality—as embodied by the gay rights movement, the dregs of the hippies, and alternative religious practices. This discussion actually took place in my family, although to their credit, my parents didn’t put much stock in the theory.

The film does an excellent job capturing elements of the culture which emerged out of the Jesus People movement of the late 60’s. The Jesus People combined the radical experiential practices of the hippies with evangelical Christianity. They saw no innate conflict between living as hippies in upstate New York, eating 70’s health food, talking graphically about having meaningful sex with their spouses, and then going to prayer meetings at house churches. Jesus was their drug.

Two notable cultural items the film missed: it didn’t mention the apocalyptic “prophecy” book, possibly the underground bestseller of the 70’s, The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsay. It would be almost impossible to portray charismatic Christianity in this era without at least mentioning it. Also, most of the songs they sang in church meetings were traditional gospel songs. The contemporary Christian music industry is the major legacy of the Jesus People movement, and I was expecting them to bust out some songs from the “Sing N’ Celebrate” collection, like “Love is the Flag Flown High (From the Castle of My Heart).” It may have been copyright issues that limited their use.

Much of my confusion around religion as a child had to do with the demands placed on people who were charismatics, but who didn’t withdraw from the world to the extent the characters did in the film. Fortunately, although my parents were dedicated, perhaps even fixated, on our Christian formation as kids, they judged that our spiritual growth would not be hampered by Star Wars, Johnny Cash, and The Electric Company. But this kind of faith is quite literally totalitarian, in that it demands the commitment of the whole individual. If you’re having a good day, it’s because God has blessed you, if you’re having a bad day, it’s because Satan is testing you. I could never integrate the intensity of a Sunday night healing service, in which we were said to be doing spiritual warfare with the Devil, who was literally causing all of our physical and mental afflictions, and the everyday world of being a kid. How could I go to school on Monday morning and think everything was normal? Didn’t my friends (most of whom were blithely Catholic) see the cosmic conflict all around them?

Ethan (Joshua Leonard) and Corinne (Farmiga) no longer see eye to eye on matters of family or faith.

As I discovered as I got older, to say “Jesus is the answer” does not mean you don’t have physical limitations, that you don’t have very human desires, or that you don’t have to get to know your own mental geography through counseling and self-reflection. The violence seething under the surface of Corinne’s husband in the film, the sexual repression of her church community, and the frustration she felt at not being able to explore secular literature and art seem part and parcel of a kind of religion that places the focus “all on Jesus” and none on our own experience as human beings.

Ryan: I think you’re right about the “all or nothing” approach to Jesus in this community. I felt that one of the strengths of the Vergara’s direction and performance was her ability to convey that sense of being smothered…of not having a creative or intellectual outlet. There are numerous times throughout the film where Corrine takes a deep breath or throws her head back or rolls her eyes as if to push back against this pressure. I often felt like I was being pushed down on her as she struggled to make space for herself.

As Corinne begins to struggle with the faith of the community and, more specifically, her husband, the two begin to grow apart. The two go see a marriage counselor and it’s clear who he thinks is the problem. As he begins to “counsel” Corinne, he tells her that he is fighting for her soul. He warns her, “There’s a lake of fire waiting for you with whips that will tear your flesh.” Corinne rapidly responds, “Will you be watching?” This is one of the sharpest, most incisive lines of dialogue you’re likely to find in films like this. I think this epitomizes the us vs. them mentality of some forms of conservative evangelicalism. I wonder if it’s not also part of the controversy surrounding Rob Bell’s latest book, Love Wins, and his departure from Mars Hill. Some Christians seem to feel offended by or afraid of Bell’s pronouncement that hell might not be as we’ve traditionally defined it or, eventually, empty. Rather than cheering the unconditional, unending love of God, they ridicule Bell’s dismissal of “basic Biblical principles,” as if those are so easily defined. Bell’s vision of life beyond this one threatens to rob many Christians of the basic human desire for revenge and just desserts…one, of course, that God calls us to rise above.

Richard: There’s a major interest in many evangelical communities at seeing those who don’t agree with them getting their comeuppance. It’s one of the most un-Christian tendencies in American Protestantism. The whole system is also shot through with the sexism presented in the film. And Mainline Protestantism has not yet exorcised these demons, either.

Ryan: In another shining example of Christian love, one of the members of the community tells Corinne that, basically, if she doesn’t get right with God, she’ll be left outside with the dogs. This is a powerful line with at least one significant biblical reference (Matthew 15:22-28).  Later in the film, there’s a scene in which Corinne returns to the church of her youth in the midst of a crisis of faith. In one particular shot, we see over her shoulder to the front porch of the church where a large dog moves into the scene. When she walks back out of the church and follows the dog to an adjoining field, several other dogs rush around her. This is a brief but effective scene. It is, of course, a reference to the comment that she’ll be left outside with the dogs. Of course what her fellow Christian probably did not know is that dogs are symbols of fidelity. Throughout art history, and specifically in religious paintings, the presence of dogs often signified faithfulness and devotion.  Far from being “in the doghouse,” Corinne’s journey is still one of faith, even as she is forced to live it out on the margins of the Christian community to which she belongs.

Annika (Dagmara Dominczyk) and Corinne (Farmiga) are the affirmations of faith in the film.

Richard: As we discussed this film, it seemed we had an emerging awareness that Corinne, as a deeply loving and devoted person, struggled with “faith” in the formal sense, perhaps because she embodied God so well herself. While she’s staring at the ceiling asking God to show her a sign, she can’t see her own goodness as part of God’s blessing, or believe that the more authentic Christian community is to be found with her crazy and sensual friend Annika (Dagmara Dominczyk) than with the other prudes in her church. There is just too much dynamic humanity in Corinne and Annika to be crammed into a narrowly molded faith. The film captures this struggle, particularly in the final scene, in which Corrine is standing in the doorway of the church, physically and spiritually divided as to whether or not she should leave. It’s a shame that so much of Christian religion has become antithetical to Bishop Ireneus’ admonition that “the glory of God is a human being fully alive.”

Ryan:  I like your assessment of Corinne being the presence of God in the lives of those community members. When Annika is in the hospital and Corinne visits her, as they lie in the hospital bed together, Annika says something to the effect of “He’s (God’s) here. I sense His presence.” As you’ve suggested, Annika can feel this because God is present in Corinne’s presence.

There’s a laundry list of points that we’ve left out here, but I think we’ve begun to get at the richness of the film and even its potential to inspire religious transformation. If any of you reading this have been lucky enough to see the film, let us know what you think!

Higher Ground (109 mins.) is in limited release and is rated R for some language and sexual content. Here’s a trailer for the film:

Who knew this little movie about maids in Mississippi would become one of the summer’s hottest box office tickets and one of the most controversial films of the year? The ruckus over this film has mainly been about who gets to tell this story, how realistic it is, and whether it portrays the suffering of segregation with sufficient horror. The film was based on a novel written by a white woman, Kathryn Stocket, who based the story on a family servant who helped raise her in the 60’s. At times it comes off as a too-gentle rebuke of the segregation era in that it allows audiences to feel easy superiority over the most egregiously racist characters. And it does sometimes break down into a teary-eyed celebration of family, good food, wacky Southern ways, and the power of following your dreams—sort of like if Steel Magnolias had any black people in it.

But The Help is also a well-made period piece that recalls the anxiousness of the South of the early 1960’s. The film captures the reality that perhaps the most disturbing element of segregation was the blithe and unexamined racism of well-bred white families and their complete befuddlement at the need for a civil rights movement. This everyday household racism did far more to uphold Jim Crow than assassinations of civil rights leaders or the moronic pronouncements of Bull Connor and George Wallace.

The film is about a young white woman who returns to her hometown of Jackson, Mississippi during the throes of the Civil Rights struggles of the early 60’s. As a woman with a BA, Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan (Emma Stone) barely fits in with her old circle of female friends who have been concentrating on earning their “MRS.” As a cub writer for the local newspaper, her first job is to pound out the household hints column. In the process of asking for cleaning advice she gets to know one of her friends’ African-American servants, Aibileen Clark (Viola Davis), who not only keeps house and cooks meals but acts as a surrogate parent to the hapless mother’s child. Skeeter soon discovers the real story is not how to get stains out of a shirt, but the story of the lives of the black maids of Jackson—“the help”—the underpaid staff who do most of the work holding the white households of the town together, with little time for their own lives and families.

When Skeeter takes a chance on asking Aibileen to open up about her stories as a maid, she soon finds herself in Aibileen’s kitchen on the black side of town, getting more than an earful from Aibileen and her friend Minny (Octavia Spencer). The project grows to include many of the household maids in the area as Skeeter puts together a book of their stories to expose the difficult and degrading situations under which these women work. In the process, her eyes are opened to her own family’s role in this oppressive system, including her parents’ recent firing of her beloved nanny and mentor, Constantine (Cicely Tyson).

Viola Davis as Aibileen Clark and Octavia Spencer as Minny.

What the film does well is demonstrate just how closely the lives of black people and white people have been intertwined in the South, perhaps no more so than during the era of segregation. You begin to see the folly in trying to tease out a “black version” and a “white version” of this history, as it is really a common American history, albeit one with vastly different perspectives on power.

There are several other elements that add to the value of The Help that have often been overlooked in the racial controversy over the film. For one, the film is unapologetically a women’s film, in that it is actually by women, about women, and told from women’s perspective. It even passes the Bechdel Test, which I only heard about this past week. Named for lesbian comic book artist Allison Bechdel, for a film to pass the test it must have 1.) Women (plural) 2.) talking to each other 3.) about something besides men. Think about it: only a handful of Hollywood films each year fit these criteria.

Another wrinkle in The Help is that most of our accounts about the Civil Rights era tend to focus on the “great men of history”—with the exception of Rosa Parks—and ignore the role of women in this struggle. This film helps us remember that the Civil Rights movement was made up of thousands of women—and men—who never had a holiday named after them, who through thousands of small acts of courage, transformed society.

There are also some excellent demonstrations of feminist and womanist (African-American feminist) theology in The Help, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use the film in class as a demonstration of some of these principles. The most obvious feminist theological principle, practiced throughout the film, is “table fellowship,” in which faith—and life—is seen as an ever-expanding circle of hospitality in which more and more people are drawn in. There are excellent examples of table fellowship when Aibileen invites Skeeter into her home for their first conversation, which grows to include Minny, and later, all the maids in the neighborhood. There are also some wonderful moments between Minny and her employer Celia Foote (Jessica Chastain) in which cooking and hospitality becomes a healing act for both of them. Tables are symbols of equality, which is why we talk about the importance of being given “a place at the table.” The revolutionary nature of blacks and whites sitting down at a table together, even today, but particularly in the Jim Crow era portrayed in this film, cannot be underestimated.

A different kind of table fellowship.

Out of this table fellowship grows two other feminist/womanist theological principles—the importance of narrative, and the extension of liberation to the community. As the women sit around their tables, sharing food and coffee, trust is created and they begin to share stories, starting with the more general and humorous, and gradually delving deeper into soul bearing of pain, hopes, and dreams. The film draws the viewer into the narrative and enacts this gradual uncovering, leading up to Aibileen’s disclosure about the conditions around her son’s death. This is where the film most effectively engages and challenges viewers with the horrible consequences of segregation. We understand the horror because we have been given time to get to know Abileen and identify with her, rather than being bashed over the head with an anti-racist diatribe. I love the line where Aibileen, Minny, and Skeeter are discussing the possible illegality of their book project, and Minny says, “We’re not doing civil rights, we’re just telling stories.” Of course the power of these women’s stories is exactly what makes them subversive to the unjust order they’re trying to resist.

In terms of community liberation, the maids in particular practice this womanist concept well. While Skeeter’s story arc follows the classic white feminist concern of the advancement of an educated woman up the ladder of success, the maids seek a kind of liberation that does not merely lift themselves up but lifts up the whole community. They are willing to sacrifice some of their own advancement for the sake of their friends, children, extended family, and neighbors. When one of the maids makes a choice not to participate in the writing of the book because she doesn’t want to put her sons’ chances of going to college at risk, this is a community liberation act. Aibileen, and Skeeter’s nanny Constantine, in particular demonstrate this principle as their circle of concern goes beyond their own children to the white children they are raising, whom they treat with genuine love and care. They don’t allow the politics of the situation to interfere with the needs of a child, and they understand that helping these children to be more compassionate people may lead to a better future for everyone.

The most negative review I have read of The Help came from Salon critic Matt Zoller Seitz, a white man, who seemed to take it upon himself to be offended for all African Americans over the way the film whitewashes history. I find this approach insufferably self-indulgent. I really wonder if he asked any African American viewers what they thought about the film, or if he simply learned to write all essays on race from a stance of righteous white liberalism in college and this is the result.

Rex Ingram as De Lawd in The Green Pastures (1936).

During my years in Berkeley, I have grown tired of my fellow white liberals’ attempts to out-radical each other with their supposed ability to unflinchingly implicate themselves in the oppression of various races, classes, sexualities, and genders. White guilt is an indulgence of a privileged, educated class—just as placing black people, or any other group, in a monolithic community of the righteously oppressed is just another form of objectification. I began to understand this through some of our study of historical religious films here at GTU, including Hallelujah! and The Green Pastures, films with African American characters with whom I could identify across the twin barriers of prejudice and political correctness. The wall of prejudice says I cannot identify with the stories of black people because my white story is superior. The wall of political correctness says I have no right to identify with black stories because I am, ipso facto, as a result of my whiteness, the “oppressor.” Both of these approaches function to keep black people and white people “othering” each other, so that we are unable to acknowledge our common humanity. I would add The Help to the list of films that portray the humanity of black and white characters in ways that try to transcend society’s dividing lines of race.

As blacks and whites in America, our stories are so deeply entangled with each other that it’s hard to tell where one group begins and another ends. I compare this situation to the biblical story of Jacob and Esau, who wrestled with each other in their mother’s womb. There’s no question that Jacob, who as a young man steals his brother’s birthright, is the oppressive party in that story, a fact he must understand and come to terms with later in the narrative. But the whole story is about both Jacob and Esau. The African American and the White American were both conceived concomitantly at the birth of this nation. Our history is as caught up together as two fraternal twins who have wrestled with each other from the womb. We must learn to tell our story to each other, each from our own perspective, but with the understanding that the larger story of learning to love and respect one other across racial/ethnic divides is a narrative we all lay claim to as Americans.

In the spirit of dialogue around what I think is an important film about race relations in America, I’ll share a few articles on The Help from different perspectives:

From The New York Times, author and filmmaker Nelson George talks about the difficulty of encapsulating the complexities of the Civil Rights era on film. It serves as a good primer on some of the civil rights films that have been made, and the Big One that hasn’t been made: the Martin Luther King, Jr. story.

From The Root, Helena Andrews took five black female professional friends to see The Help and quizzed them on their reactions. Interestingly, she concludes that as middle class women they had more in common, at least economically and possibly socially, with the white women in the film.

I usually enjoy Matt Zoller Seitz’s writing on popular culture for Salon, but his review of The Help is an exception. He didn’t even have to see the film to write this.

Also from The Root, this article by Mary C. Curtis recounts a panel discussion on the film involving white women and black women, and laments the tendency for black people and white people to talk past each other in discussions of race.

The Help (146 mins.) is rated PG-13 for thematic material and is in theaters everywhere.

In Red State, three high school boys, Travis (Michael Angarano), Billy Ray (Nicholas Braun), and Jarod (Kyle Gallner), solicit sex from a middle aged woman on the Internet. She wants to have sex with all three of them at the same time and as they make their plans and drive out to her rural trailer, they debate how it’s going to go down, their homophobia guiding most of the conversation. On the way, they sideswipe a parked car and quickly speed off. When they arrive at the trailer and meet Sara (Melissa Leo), they get more than they bargained for. Sara is actually the daughter of Abin Cooper (Michael Parks) the leader of Five Points Trinity Church, a violent extremist Christian sect. Members of the congregation kidnap the three teenagers and use them in their bizarre evening service (ritual). Out investigating the hit and run, Deputy Pete (Matt L. Jones) spots the boys’ car hidden among some bushes on the Five Points Trinity property. His conversation with Abin buys the boys enough time to escape and foil their captors plans. This also sparks a standoff between members of Five Points Trinity Church and the local authorities and A.T.F., led by Joseph Keenan (John Goodman), which turns brutally violent as the Five Points congregants pack more than the Sword of the Spirit. In a bizarre turn of events, the conflict ends through what we later learn is an exploitation of the congregants’ most anticipated life-changing events.

Michael Parks gives a fantastic performance as Abin Cooper.

There are really only three things that mark this as a Kevin Smith film: rapid dialogue, a wealth of cursing, and some dark humor. Other than that, he’s in some pretty new (aside from the commentary on religion) territory. He’s doing a gritty thriller, action movie unlike anything he’s ever done before…and he kicks the proverbial door down with it. Unlike so many action movies that make the audience feel like they’re sitting in the middle of a blender, Smith and director of photography David Klein somehow manage to keep everything in extreme focus even as the action is moving at break-neck speed. Red State also benefits from an impressive script, the strength of which lies in much of Parks and Goodman’s dialogue.

There might have been a few actors who could have fit these roles, but I doubt that the film would have been as effective without the cast Smith assembled here, particularly Parks, Leo, and Goodman. I’m glad Smith has taken a stab at qualifying his film for Oscar consideration because, while I don’t think the film itself deserves a nomination, Parks certainly does. He plays a character who is part Rev. Harry Powell and part Daniel Plainview, and he plays it to the hilt. The lengthy sermon scene in which we first meet him is qualification enough for a Best Actor nod. The hymns and scriptures roll off of his tongue like poison-laced honey. Leo’s performance as Abin’s daughter left me wondering if she’ll ever deliver a bad one. It’s great to see Goodman back on the big screen, and he does a great job as a conflicted A.T.F.  member who faces a difficult moral test. While some viewers might argue that he fails that test, he does provide the most sobering assessment of the events in the film.

Cheyenne (Kerry Bishe) desparately searches for a way out of the conflict.

And of course there’s the whole religion thing. As I mentioned above, I think Smith’s engaging in prophetic hyperbole here. He doesn’t believe all conservative, radically evangelical Christians are gun-toting nut-jobs. Even as Abin and his Five Points community closely mirror Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, KS, Smith gives Keenan a line in which he tells his superior that, unlike the Five Points congregation, the Phelps community hasn’t amassed firearms.However, like Phelps, Abin and his followers reveal the ability of some Christians to embrace the letter of the Word without understanding its Spirit. Abin can quote scripture until kingdom come (an event he’s eagerly awaiting), but he leaves no room for the love or grace of God to move among either his congregants or especially unbelievers.

It’s a bit of a spoiler here, but the members of Five Points Trinity Church not only protest funerals and get their message out in the media, they’re also actively ridding the world of the sinful plagues (specifically homosexuality and sexual perversion) that they believe are destroying the country. That they, in part, torture and kill their victims on a cross inside their sanctuary is a point of irony that seems to be lost on Abin and his followers. While these victims aren’t Christ figures in the film, Smith is clearly making a point about the way hard-core Christian fundamentalists often treat others.

As the film draws to a close, Keenan offers a level-headed interpretation of not only Five Points Trinity Church, but perhaps all conservative, fundamental religious communities. He tells his superiors at the end of the film, “People do strange things when they believe they’re entitled. People do even stranger things when they plain believe.” The problem is not belief, in and of itself, but belief devoid of any reason, doubt, or, I would add, faith. Earlier in the film, an officer asks Keenan, as they observe the Five Points compound, “What do you think a cross like that costs?” Keenan responds, “In dollars or common sense?” I’ve read several negative reviews of Red State in which some critics claim they’d like to have seen Smith “take a side.” I don’t know what film they’re watching, but with lines like these, it seems that he has indeed taken a side. Yet, in a rather subtle way, he refuses to damn “the opposition,” even as they are eager to damn him. Towards the beginning of the film, Travis et al’s high school teacher lectures on the Constitution. Of course her major discussion point is the freedom of religion and as the scene fades out, the class touches on the Second Amendment. While she claims that Abin and his crew have every constitutional right to express their beliefs, she certainly thinks the world would be a better place without them (“The Nazis have even alienated themselves from Abin and Five Points”). Unlike this teacher, Keenan (and Smith?) view the opposing sides in much more complex ways.

Red State is a haunting film…it’ll be difficult to listen to “The Old Rugged Cross” the same way again…and it’s one that couldn’t have come at a better time. Unfortunately, it will not enjoy the wide theatrical release that it deserves, but its availability on both On-Demand and through iTunes certainly helps boost its potential audience. In a time when we have political candidates running on, essentially, theocratic platforms, Red State reveals yet again the danger of fundamental religious absolutism, especially when it has access to multiple forms of power.