Get Low tells the story of Felix Bush (Robert Duvall), an old hermit who has built a cabin in the woods and shut himself off from the world for over 40 years.  It is clear that a tragic event from his past haunts him but neither the audience nor the folks who live around Felix know exactly what it is until the end of the film.  Stories and rumors pass among the townspeople…some say he killed a man, others imply that he harmed women and children as they warn him to stay away from them when he rarely wanders into town.  One day, Felix decides that he wants to be present (alive) at his funeral and sets about planning it.  What he really wants is an end-of-life party in which everyone who has a story about him is invited to tell it and which will conclude with him telling his own story after  all these years.  When Felix visits Rev. Gus Horton (Gerald McRaney) to request his services, Rev. Horton refuses, but Buddy (Lucas Black), a funeral director, overhears his plan and rushes to tell his colleague/boss, Frank Quinn (Bill Murray).  Quinn Funeral Home is a struggling business, and Frank laments that people around the town aren’t dying fast enough…at least not like the folks in Chicago, for example, who know how to die quickly and in a variety of ways.  The film follows Frank and Buddy’s work with Felix to plan his unusual funeral.  Along the way, Felix announces via radio broadcast that he will raffle off his cabin and surrounding timber after his death.  Tickets are only $5, and the money pours in.  As the film progresses, we learn bits and pieces about Felix’s life through reflections from his close friends, Rev. Charlie Jackson (Bill Cobbs) and Mattie Darrow (Sissy Spacek), however, the filmmakers withhold the truth until Felix shares it with everyone at his funeral.

Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) has got some confessin' to do.

The strength of Get Low is in its casting, perhaps one of the best examples of how crucial this aspect of filmmaking really is.  Duvall gives one of the best performances of his stellar career and should surely be considered for an Oscar nomination in a few months.  It’s not that he’s getting better with age…he’s had performances that have been just as good…but rather his age, it seems, gives him the necessary experience to play this role.  His final confession is one of the more heart-wrenching scenes you’re likely to see in the movies this year.  Murray, on the other hand, gives the film some levity with subtle comic relief.  The brilliance of his character and his acting is that we’re never quite sure whether he genuinely cares about Felix’s wishes or if he will simply run off with the money as soon as the funeral is over.  Black does a fine job of conveying a young funeral worker who is torn between a genuine respect and concern for an elderly man’s wishes and guarding against any exploitation that might take place.  Cobbs and Spacek are simply perfect in their somewhat minor but crucial roles.

We're a little unsure of Frank Quinn (Bill Murray).

Of course all of these performances benefit from some fantastic writing.  The film strings us along and keeps our interest as we, like everyone else, desire to know what happened to Felix or what he did that has caused him to shut himself off from the world.  As I mentioned before, we learn bits and pieces along the way, but even in these snippets of information, there is much room for debate about what really happened until Felix tells his story.

I’m certainly not going to reveal much about that story here, however, it was a tragedy with deep moral and emotional implications.  People kept telling Felix that he needs to ask God for forgiveness.  This notion of asking God/Jesus for forgiveness for actions that harmed other people is one of the film’s central spiritual/theological/religious themes.  Get Low seems to suggest that our first concern in the path of forgiveness and reconciliation should be with those whom we have harmed directly.  It suggests that we might only fully be reconciled to God after we have made peace with our neighbors.  Felix reflects on all the people who have told him to ask Jesus for forgiveness and says gruffly, “I never did nothin’ to him.”

In the process, Get Low, as Rev. Jackson says at Felix’s funeral, reveals that good and evil are often closely intertwined.  They’re not nearly as black-and-white as most of the townspeople’s rumors suggest.  Felix might be guilty of creating a tragic situation that requires confession, but he is also a man of immense talent and depth.  As Mattie says of Felix, “He just kept goin’.”  Felix built, by hand, the beautiful chapel in which Rev. Jackson ministers, and he also fashions his own, simple casket that sharply contrasts with the impersonal, factory-made, silk-lined boxes that occupy Quinn’s Funeral Home.

Get Low, like Big Fish (2003), focuses on the importance of telling our story and the occasional necessity of helping others tell theirs.  The rumors and lies about Felix, along with his friends’ genuine concern for him, ask us whether we can ever really know anyone or not.  Felix has kept his story bottled up inside him for over forty years…he has imprisoned it, much like he has imprisoned himself.  As such, Felix’s first funeral is a transformation from a burdened life into a liberated one that results from storytelling.  This first funeral is one for a broken spirit.

The film also calls into question our relationship to time and how we live our lives in the face of tragedy and loss.  In one scene, Felix talks to Mattie about days gone by and their lives now.  Mattie  says that it seems as if all her old friends are dying off and that she’s just waiting for her name to be called.  Felix tells her that we’re never really waiting…we’re always moving forward, even when we are standing or sitting still.  The world moves under as and, as a result, we move along with it.  Their discussion reminded me of an exchange in Waiting for Godot:

Vladimir:  That passed the time.

Estragon:  It would have passed in any case.

Time and life moves on around us.  It has passed Felix by and is currently running away from Mattie.  While this might ordinarily be a trite sentiment, the gravity of Felix’s situation reminds us that how we choose to pass that time matters.

In the end, Get Low gives the lie to the conservative, evangelical Christian notion that nothing good comes out of Hollywood.  Here, we have what could easily be termed a Christian film, but this film doesn’t need nor specifically want that label (as Duvall has said in interviews about it).  Yet it contains more truth than a host of recent, specifically Christian-produced films could ever hope to convey.

Get Low (100 mins) is rated PG-13 for some thematic material and brief violent content and, unfortunately, has a relatively limited release.  Buy, don’t rent, this when it releases on DVD.

If ever there was a book that made me feel I should take a hatchet to my word processor and never write again, Movie Love:  The Complete Reviews of Pauline Kael, 1988-1991 is it. Purchased in a garishly lit bookstore on Sunset in West Hollywood where they sold everything from porn to the Catholic Catechism, the $2.99 I spent on this scruffy paperback of Pauline Kael’s latter film reviews has brought me more pleasure than any other product I could have bought from such an emporium.

Like sex (and the Catholic Catechism) certain writers, artists, and films, are found anew each generation while the older folks smack their heads and go, “You just discovered that?” (Ryan Parker’s and my mutual obsession with Mad Men has led me to Time Out by Dave Brubeck, and the disc has barely left my car CD player in recent weeks.) During her twenty-four years at the New Yorker, Kael became the lioness of film reviewers, revolutionizing the field and securing a place for criticism as art.

The book is the perfect introduction to Kael’s work because I know these films. I grew up with them. In retrospect, the late 80’s and early 90’s were not the film industry’s most stellar era. Movies that would have been told in a simpler style in a simpler age were ruined by the bombast of blockbuster. Only the eighties could have turned the tragic/triumphant story of 1964’s Freedom Summer into the self-righteous violence of Mississippi Burning. And as Kael writes of one notable director’s overkill in Always: “Was there no one among Steven Spielberg’s associates with the intellectual stature to convince him that having cried at A Guy Named Joe when he was twelve was not a good enough reason for him to remake it?” Well, no. But somehow I don’t think intellectual stature or lack thereof is what moves Spielberg.

There’s only one great film from this era reviewed here (GoodFellas), several forgotten movies that have stood the test of time as good films (My Left Foot, Casualties of War), and a few that have become cult classics (Heathers, L.A. Story). But my inner early adolescent thrills to recall with Kael the formative films of my life, including Batman, Dead Poets’ Society, Edward Scissorhands, and the Back to the Future, Indiana Jones, and Ghostbusters series.

The incredible literacy and background Kael lends to this schlocky era is enough to put us Internet scribblers to shame. Her Batman review brings in references to Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, classic American films like The Hunchback of Notre Dame and The Phantom of the Opera, the German fantasy film about angels, Wings of Desire, and the horror classic, The Man who Laughs. Apparently, Michael Keaton was better than Jack Nicholson in Batman. Not to my teenage eyes at the time, but Kael is so convincing it makes me want to go back and watch the film again.

Her review of Dead Poets’ Society brings out a long-held suspicion that the film was good in an earnest, middlebrow sort of way, but over-directed—the intense, camera-as-character style leaving its young stars, “without a zit to call their own.” (*Sigh*… Pauline, camera-as-character would only get worse.)

She pinpoints Ghostbusters II as the better sequel than Back to the Future II. And I have to agree with her. For some reason I missed the second Ghostbusters, but viewing it on Netflix, it has much of the same charm and humor as the first. (This doesn’t excuse a Harold Ramis interview I heard on Fresh Air years later where he whined about the film not being as successful as the first. It only made 112 million dollars domestically.) Future II as she calls it, feels like an “assembly line.”  “It doesn’t have anything like the first film’s what-the-hell Oedipal humor… The inventiveness is fast and furious, but low in spirit. Inventiveness has become a formula.” Thank God Pauline never had to review the desolation that would be wreaked on narrative in the CGI age.

She disagrees with me on the greatness of Goodfellas, suggesting for all of Scorcese’s whiz-bang artistry, the characters and story feel shallow. The characters may have been shallow as people, but not as characters.  They were completely memorable, as anyone who’s riffed on Joe Pesci’s “funny like a clown” line could tell you. What Scorcese did in this film was bring gangsters out of the Godfather’s operatic mahogany mansions and into the suburbs. He made them more like people we know – and paved the way for suburban mafia like The Sopranos.

Her enthusiasm for films is infectious, if at times it carries her away: “There may be no more romantic flight of imagination in modern movies than the drive that Vicki and Batman take, by Batmobile, rocketing through a magical forest.” And in another review, “I doubt if the acting in American movies has ever been as good as it is right now.” She goes on to congratulate Tom Hanks for his role in Turner and Hooch.

But even if some of the films haven’t stood the test of time, her reviews of them have. She tosses off a prose style that sounds breezy but sophisticated, skimming the shallows and plumbing the depths; she reaches out and smacks you with lines that resound with a comic-book Pow! Dustin Hoffman’s character Raymond in Rain Man is “accepted [by the audience] as a harmless, endearing alien—E.T. in autistic drag.” Of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade she writes, “For a while in the twenties and thirties, art was talked about as a substitute for religion; now B movies are a substitute for religion. (The pulp adventure is the Grail. Connecting with your dad is the Grail.)” And discussing Kevin Costner’s actor-director turn in Dances with Wolves: “This epic was made by a bland megalomaniac. The Indians should have named him Plays with Camera.”

Kael pioneered this high-brow/low-brow sweep in the 1960’s, particularly with her groundbreaking essay, “Trash, Art, and the Movies.” After Kael wrote in 1969, “Why should pleasure need justification?” and “Trash has given us an appetite for art,” critics could no longer hide behind the façade of high art. Whether reviewing Mozart or the Muppets, after Kael, critics had to pitch to the level of the mass-produced cultural candy that Americans gobble up like junk food. It changes the palette for everything else.

In her seminal essay on trash and art, Kael brings up the conflict between older viewers who’ve seen it all and “the young who are seeing it all for the first hundred times.” This makes one of her reviews in Movie Love stand out all the more for me: Brian DePalma’s Casualties of War.

I wasn’t allowed to see rated R films as a kid, in part because of my Christian upbringing, in part because of my sensitivity to violence. At a band party my sophomore year in high school someone decided to watch Casualties of War. On Betamax. Because movies about Vietnam War atrocities apparently make good party viewing. I never sat through a more tortured two hours in my fifteen years of life, the horror of what played out on screen competing with my desire to be accepted, competing with the feeling I was doing something I thought my parents disapproved of, even if they would never know.

It wasn’t as if this movie was even something naughty and fun like Meatballs or Porky’s. Casualties of War, starring Michael J. Fox and Sean Penn, is an account of the abduction, rape, and murder of a Vietnamese girl by five U.S. soldiers. It was based on the true event recounted in a searing article by Daniel Lang in The New Yorker in 1969.

What strikes me in reading Kael’s review is how much I remember of the film twenty years after viewing it once—and how much Kael’s shock at the film mirrored my own. I remember, with Kael, the helicopter scene in which a dying soldier is flown out of the jungle after a firefight, “the yellow-green river running beneath him suggests being so close up against a painting that it’s pure pigment.” I remember the taking, beating, and violating of the Vietnamese girl. Kael describes the kidnapped girl’s difficulty breathing through her bloodied nose with her mouth gagged, and that detail is seared into my brain as well.

Michael J. Fox plays an idealistic soldier, Eriksson, who objects to what his squad-mates, led by Sean Penn, are doing to the girl. He doesn’t participate in the rape, and has a brief, agonizing, opportunity to help her escape, which he fails to do. By the time they have killed the girl and returned to camp, Eriksson’s comrades recognize what a risk his conscience poses to them, and they try to frag him with a grenade as he sits on the latrine. Eventually, he brings charges against the men and they are convicted in a court marshal. But no justice can be done in such a situation, either for the dead girl and her family, or to assuage Eriksson’s guilt.

The film exposes the frailty of innocence and idealism, and the sometime impossibility of doing the right thing. Eriksson is not able to be a hero in this movie, the horror of the situation has made that role unavailable. Kael relates her own story of walking in New York and seeing a small child being abused by his father, and her feeling of helplessness as the child’s wails followed her down the street. Seeing the film as a sheltered kid, the agony of being able to prevent a horrific wrong was new to me. American kids of a certain race and class are taught they can always be the hero of their own story, and I’m sure having that illusion challenged is why the Michael J. Fox character resonated with me.

We finished that day at the band party by watching The Burbs, another early Tom Hanks disaster, moving seamlessly from wartime horror to late eighties absurdity. Kael was right—whatever movies aspire to be as art, they are frequently treated as a diversion, as trash. It doesn’t mean they don’t crawl under your skin. A teenage party seems like an inappropriate setting for Casualties of War, but what is the right setting? Someone shows you a movie about the horror and injustice of war, and there sprawled out on the beige carpet, in the midst of flat Pepsi and bean dip, next to two horny kids making out, your world is taken up and shaken and your whole perspective is changed.

I remember going home and wanting to watch something, anything, to clear that film out of my head. I found solace in the newly released video of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. (The Grail in this case was the temporary restoration of innocence.) Despite the fact that I was “seeing it all for the first hundred times,” Pauline Kael, the wizened critic, had a similar reaction to Casualties of War: “When you leave the theater you’ll probably find you’re not ready to talk about it. You may also find it hard to talk lightly about anything.” That the film affected us both the same way speaks volumes about the penetrating power of movies.

The Visitation is an interesting little film that released directly to DVD in 2006.  It tells the story of Travis (Martin Donovan), a minister whose wife is murdered in what appears to be a satanic ritual.  Her murderers are never found.  Three years later, Travis has lost his faith, quit cleaning his house, started drinking, and only spends time with his old dog, Max, who soon dies as well.  Around this time, the people of Antioch, the small town where he lives, begin experiencing miracles and seeing three mysterious black trenchcoat-clad men who tell them, “he is coming.”  People are healed, Max raises from the dead, and a revival breaks out in the twon.  They all rally aorund a young man, Brandon Nichols (Edward Furlong).  He promises the people that with open hearts and willing spirits they will see miracles.  The town ministers are divided over their approach to these events.  Rev. Kyle (Randy Travis) instantly believes it is demonic.  Others are simply skeptical, laughing at their congregants’ naivete.  Travis is uncommitted but skeptical as well.  Along with Morgan (Kelly Lynch), the mother of one of the young men who follows Brandon, thye begin to investigae Brandon’s past.  Soon they realize he is not who he says he is.  Brandon is really Jason Cantwell, the son of a former minister who abused him as a child.  To escape his father’s fundamentalist religion fueled abuse, Jason gave himself over to the devil and must take a life every 3 years in return for his powers/protection.  Jason/Brandon strikes against the people of Antioch for not being there for him during his time of need, particularly Travis who simply reported the abuse to the authorities which enraged his father in the first place.

The Visitation is exactly what it is…by that I mean that it is a straight to DVD movie that went straight to DVD…no theatrical release to bore critics or to incure greater financial debt.  Nearly all of the performances are suitable, even if Furlong overdoes it just a bit.  Though these films are all rather predictable, The Visitation manages to maintain interest throughout.  The cinematography, special effects, and score are all befitting an average supernatural thriller.

Brandon claims to be Jesus, and might even have the marks to prove it.

Based on a Frank Peretti novel, The Visitation’s major theme is that of spiritual warfare, a constant theme in all of Peretti’s work.  It’s concerned about the duel between darkness and light, though we hardly ever see any positive, effective portrayals of that light other than Rev. Kyle telling demons to come out of the people they possess.  There are no pro-active healings or miracles on the part of Christians in the film…all of those belong to the satanic Brandon.  In the end, the Bible, literally saves someone’s life, but more like a Kevlar vest (if you know what I mean) than a lamp unto their feet and a light unto their path.  Furthermore, the ever-faithful ministers, epitomized by Rev. Kyle, do not ultimately defeat Jason/Brandon:  ironically, Travis, the skeptic, does.

Speaking of demons, though the film presents a reality of demonic possession, it is a bit ambiguous.  The source of Jason/Brandon’s possession is not solely or firstly his fault.  It doesn’t happen out of the blue.  Jason’s father actually crucified him on a fence when he learned that Jason had reported his abusive behavior to another minister.  His father’s violent rleigious fundamentalism created the space for a 12 year old boy to cry out for help.  It’s hard to overly criticize a twelve year old boy for being fearful of the God of his father, especially after he has just nailed him to a fence, and turning to others for help.  In the end, perhaps, The Visitation seems to also suggest that one person’s demonic possession is another person’s dysfunctional/traumatic childhood.

Travis finds his faith again after all this as he buries Jason, who died in a final spiritual showdown.  Unfortunately, this return to faith, like many similar stories, feels a bit too expected or convenient.  More importantly, there is no sense that the town has learned anything or whether or not they will now be more equipped to more effectively minister to people like Jason/Brandon.  In the end, though The Visitation isn’t a life-changing movie-watching experience, it’s certainly not the worst the genre has to offer.

The Visitation (103 mins) is available on DVD through Netflix and is rated PG-13 for mature thematic material, violence/terror and disturbing images.

Letters to God (directed by David Nixon, who also produced Facing the Giants and Fireproof) tells the story of Tyler, a young boy who has brain cancer and has returned home from the hospital after his first surgery and round of treatment.  We first meet Tyler (Tanner Maguire) as he slips one of his many letters to God, actually prayers that he writes out in pen-pal fashion to God, into his mailbox.  A new mailman, Brady McDaniels (Jeffrey S. S. Johnson) takes over Tyler’s route and, like his predecessor, doesn’t know what to do with the letters.

Jeffrey’s life is in shambles as he has been convicted of a D.U.I. some time before and is currently separated from his wife and losing custody rights to his young son.  He lives in a one-room dishevelled apartment in town and gets drunk on a nightly basis.  One night, after leaving the bar, he stops by a local church where he plans to leave the letters; however, before he can leave, the minister confronts him and suggests that he keep the letters…God might just have something in store for him through this.  The minister refuses to let Brady leave until he prays for him.

Tyler (Tanner Maguire) leads Brady (Jeffrey S. S. Johnson).

As the film progresses, Tyler deals with the complications of his disease, specifically frequently feeling sick and tolerating kids who pick on him at school.  Meanwhile, Tyler’s family, mother Maddy (Robyn Lively), grandmother Olivia (Maree Cheatham), and brother Ben (Michael Christopher Bolten), have their own struggles as well.  Ben is starved for attention, angry that Tyler is sick, and unable to pray his frustrations away per his grandmother’s suggestion.  Maddy is trying to resume a normal life at work while managing her two sons but finds it harder to keep up a cheerful, faithful appearance when Tyler’s condition worsens.  Through it all, grandmother Olivia remains a stalwart, faithful presence, reassuring them all that God cares for them and has a plan for them through all of this.

Along the way, Tyler also draws comfort from his best friend Sam (Bailee Madison) and her grandfather, Mr. Perryfield (Ralph Waite).  Mr. Perryfield assures Tyler that God has chosen him to be His special warrior.  Through his battle with cancer, Tyler will prove that God is truth and his behavior will point others to God.  This is indeed what happens as his perseverance inspires Brady to get his life in order.  He stops drinking and becomes a close friend and supporter of Tyler and his family.  As Tyler’s condition worsens, Brady finally reads the letters and is inspired to give them away to the people about whom and for whom Tyler had been praying as a way of inspiring and encouraging them.  Though Tyler passes away, he leaves behind a legacy as he inspires countless people of all ages to write their own letters to God.

That this is based on a true story makes this all the more difficult to say, but Letters to God comes across as nothing more than Christian pornography.  Such a critique depends on a broader view of pornography as that which provides sensation without emotion.  Letters to God attempts to hit all of the sensational marks, jerking tears and tugging at heartstrings along the way, but does so at the expense of genuine emotion.  To put it more politely, Letters to God is pure kitsch, but even this leads us back to the pornographic.  In his book, Good Taste, Bad Taste, & Christian Taste, aesthetician Frank Burch Brown draws parallels between viewers’ reactions to kitsch and viewers’ responses to pornography or the erotic.  The initial emotional/physical reaction to kitsch (the lump in the throat) parallels the natural/physical response to the erotic (the lump in the…well…you get the point).  Granted, some of the characters do express anger, doubt, and frustration, particularly Tyler’s mother, but the tone of the film and the way in which it telegraphs every character arc rob such scenes of their potential emotional payoff.  Every time we meet a new character, Contemporary Christian Music fills the air whose lyrics summarize their entire journey…even before we are allowed to take it.  Just as funky jazz signals the shedding of clothes in a porn, the CCM music here signals tears and a conversion.

They might make you feel good, but the feeling won't last.

As troubling as all of this is, we still haven’t addressed the theological implications of the film.  Mr. Perryfield’s advice to Tyler sums up the film’s theology.  Though he no doubt has good intentions, Mr. Perryfield telling Tyler that God has chosen him to be a warrior is too close to the notion that God chose to give him cancer in the first place.  Olivia’s constant cheerful emphasis that God has a plan for all of this simply does not give Maddy and others the space they need to grieve.  Even if Brady’s life turns around thanks to Tyler’s courage and cheerful spirit, that God would need to take Tyler’s life in the process (or to even have him be ill in the first place) to accomplish this is something that would never occur to Olivia.  That such a devastating disease that robs a child of his youth and the family of a child could be an act of God is a theology that should die a quick and rapid death.

A highlight of the film, for younger viewers I would imagine, is the way in which Tyler relates to God.  Though Mr. Perryfield’s theology implies a more menacing view of God, Tyler’s view of and relationship with God is one of an ever-present friend, not a cancer-inducing agent to be feared.  Then again, I don’t know if I would even recommend this for young viewers.  People of all ages and faith persuasions should avoid this like cancer.

Letters to God is rated PG for thematic material and is available on DVD and streaming on Netflix.

7 Women tells the story of a group of women who work in a Christian mission in the Chinese countryside in the 1930s.  They are ruled by Agatha Andrews (Margaret Leighton), a stern Christian woman who embodies a “my way or the highway” approach to running the mission.  The mission also houses a pregnant couple Charles (the only man) and Florrie Pether (Eddie Albert and Betty Field), whose pregnancy is somewhat suspect.  Charles wanted to be a pastor and this is close as he could get to sharing the gospel on a professional level.  Emma Clark (Sue Lyon), a beautiful blonde with a promising future, is the youngest member of the mission.  Jane Argent (Mildred Dunnock) is Agatha’s assistant, and Miss Russell (Anna Lee) and Miss Binns (Flora Robson) are refuges from the nearby British mission who serve to report the atrocities of attacking bandits and intensify the ominous mood surrounding Agatha’s mission.  For various reasons, the women anxiously await the arrival of a new doctor.  Florrie obviously needs the doctor’s assistance during her risky pregnancy (she’s a bit too old and the surroundings a bit too primitive) and the other women know that the children need good medical care as well.  Charles goes into the nearest village to meet the doctor at the appointed time but doesn’t see anyone who fits the description.  The next day, Dr. D. R. Cartwright arrives, but much to their surprise the doctor is a woman (a fiery performance by Anne Bancroft).  Immediately, Agatha expresses disapproval of a female doctor, especially one that smokes, drinks, uses foul language, sits down to dinner before grace has been offered, and doesn’t even believe in the God to whom that grace is offered.  Dr. Cartwright doesn’t tolerate Ms. Andrews’ rigid religiosity and her treatment of her fellow missionaries.  However, when trouble strikes the mission, it is Dr. Cartwright, not Agatha, who makes the ultimate sacrifice for the well-being of the missionaries.

On the surface, 7 Women seems to be one of those films that simply attacks Christians and Christianity.  Releasing in the 1960s as it did, it would certainly fit into Dans’ description of that decade and the tendency of films to denigrate religion/religious adherence.  On one level, this is true of the film.  Agatha is, as Dr. Cartwright refers to her, “a small time dictator.”  She has no compassion, love, or care.  When a cholera outbreak strikes the mission and Emma becomes ill, Agatha cannot even pray, as Dr. Cartwright goes to work to save her.  Shortly after this, Agatha tells Dr. Cartwright that there is an emptiness in her life and that she is searching for something to fill it but that God is just not enough.  When the women are trapped by invading warlords and Florrie goes into labor, her screams of pain enrage Agatha who refers to the pregnant woman as an animal.  To top it all off, Agatha turns out to be a lesbian who desires Emma and cannot bear the fact that she admires and respects Dr. Cartwright.  The rest of the missionaries are little more than bumbling idiots, save Emma perhaps, who evidences genuine compassion for and devotion to the children under her care.  Mr. Pether places his desire for vocational ministry above the well-being of his wife, who, even when not in labor, is a loud, whiny woman that drives everyone within earshot crazy.

Yet to harp on this aspect of the film alone is to miss the deeper point that Ford, a Catholic himself, is trying to make yet again in his final film, one that he made throughout his career.  While many of his films evidence a devotion to or respect of the more ritual aspects of religion, at the same time, they often feature a character or characters who buck those traditions, and that is nowhere more true than in the character of Dr. Cartwright, the obvious heroine of 7 Women.  She is crass, out-spoken, and highly critical of Agatha’s beliefs.  Yet she is simultaneously the embodiment of, dare I say it, a Christ figure.  When we first meet Dr. Cartwright, she rides into the mission on a donkey as the children under Emma’s care sing “Jesus Loves Me.”  In her leather jacket and wide-brimmed hat pulled low, we easily mistake Dr. Cartwright for a man until she dismounts and removes her hat.  When cholera strikes the mission, she quarantines the area, takes care of the sick, and arranges the burial/burning of the dead.  Ultimately, when the bandits invade the mission, led by Tunga Khan (Mike Mazurki), she strikes a deal with him, giving herself over to him as a concubine so that the others may go free.  This sparks a divisive reaction among the missionaries.  Agatha is appalled at her sexual behavior while the others see it for what it is.  As the film ends, Dr. Cartwright poisons Tunga Khan (“So long ya bastard…”) and partakes of it herself, choosing death rather than torture at the hands of the surviving bandits.

Here again, in his final film, Ford seems to suggest that a legal obsession with the beliefs and strictures of religion is not what is important.  On the other hand, an ability to enjoy life, to act in the face of adversity to preserve life, and, finally, to give of yourself for others, even unto death, is the true model of Christ-like behavior.  Confined to the inner workings of a mission, 7 Women does not contain the stunning visuals we expect from Ford’s films, even of a set-bound film like The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance; however, Ford manages to get some strong performances from his actresses, most notably Bancroft and Leighton.  Unfortunately, 7 Women is not available on DVD and only occasionally airs on TCM.  Though it is far from his best, it is Ford’s last film and certainly important in that respect.  You can at least watch a trailer here.

Put quite simply, To Save a Life is the best Christian film I have ever seen, and by Christian films, I mean films produced by churches or specifically Christian production studios intent on spreading a gospel message.  My definition of Christian films takes into account Terry Lindvall’s definition but expands it to include theatrically-released films as well (his research into the origins of the Christian film industry only  considered non-theatrical films).  Changes in technology, communication, production, exhibition, and distribution have necessitated a broadening of this definition, because, unlike decades ago, church-based productions enjoying wide theatrical releases is now a reality.  But forget just Christian films, To Save a Life is one of the better inspirational/teen/high school films I have seen in recent years as well.  In this case, the faith of its characters actually enhances the narrative rather than detracting from it.

Golden boy Jake (Randy Wayne) and his girlfriend Amy (Deja Kreutzberg).

To Save a Life focuses on Jake Taylor (Randy Wayne), a star high school basketball player with a bright future ahead of him (he has a scholarship to play at the University of Louisville).  Jake’s life is turned upside down when a former childhood friend, Roger  (Robert Bailey Jr.), commits suicide in front of him in the hallway at school.  This tragedy sends Jake on an exploration for meaning and answers for why Roger had become so alienated, a reality for which he is primarily responsible.  Unsatisfied with his life, his relationship with girlfriend Amy (Deja Kreutzberg), and his friendships, particularly with friend Doug (Steven Crowder), Jake turns to a local church after its youth minister, Chris Vaughn (Joshua Weigel), reaches out to him.  Together, they see the realities of their respective environments, the school and the church, that contributed to Roger’s feelings of loneliness and depression and often turn religious seekers like Jake (and, at one time Roger) away from the church.  Unlike many Christian films, Jake’s life does not automatically improve as soon as he sets foot in the church:  in fact, it gets worse at times.  Jake still has a host of challenges and consequences to face from decisions that he has made in the past.  Thankfully, in youth pastor Chris, he has a supporter who truly listens to him and stands by him no matter what.

Though they were inspired by Sherwood Baptist Church/Sherwood Pictures, New Song Community Church/New Song Pictures has created a production unlike anything their predecessors have turned out thus far.  In To Save A Life, New Song Pictures provides a film that seeks out a more youthful audience, one that the church actively targets to ensure its current and future livelihood.  Watching New Song’s first film instantaneously makes Sherwood Pictures’ films feel terribly old school…and not in a good way.  One could make the case that Facing the Giants is targeted to a younger audience, but its focus is still on the adult Grant Taylor and the difficulties that he faces, rather than his players.  Moreover, New Song isn’t afraid to look at the realities of everyday life either as their film depicts teens and adults drinking, teens smoking weed, cursing, and teen pregnancy.  That they so revel in such realities makes the need for a substantive message from the church all the more important.

The transformative power of belonging: Jake with new friend Johnny (Sean Michael Afable).

Perhaps unwillingly, To Save a Life presents an alternative way of participating in a community of faith that certainly flies in the face of more conservative congregations like Sherwood, for example.  We can think of two different ways in which individuals can become part of a community of faith.  Perhaps the more traditional one with which many of us are familiar is the believing/behaving/belonging paradigm in which the new member only fully belongs after (s)he believes and behaves appropriately.  On the other hand, the far more risky, yet Christ-like, paradigm is to belong/behave/believe whereby a new member is invited to belong to a community and this belonging affects their behavior which then shapes and makes real their belief.  To Save a Life is a vision of the latter as Jake only fully believes in what the church has to offer after his belonging in the community has shaped his behavior, a behavior which not only changes his life but the lives of those around him as well.

Furthermore, the church in To Save a Life is one that is full of problems and troubled members…just like most churches in the real world.  It is a place that simultaneously promises and needs transformation.  Not surprisingly, the church in To Save a Life is New Song itself, and the actions and dialogue of the youth minister in the film embody the differences between New Song Community Church and Sherwood Baptist Church.  Some of Chris’ comments to Jake would never be found in many Christian productions thus far.  When the two first meet, Jake tells him, “I’m not really religious,” to which Chris responds, “I’m not either.”  As the film progresses, Jake tells Chris, “I don’t want to just be another Christian,” and Chris responds, “Good, I don’t want you to.”  As such, this is a hip, spiritual-but-not-religious version of Christianity that is fraught with its own theological shortcomings as well.

Though this is something of a spoiler, I feel that I should mention it here.  I am thankful that the film takes a comparatively progressive stance on teen pregnancy.  Juno aside, most films that involve teen pregnancy dwell too much in the abortion/birth dichotomy, as if adoption is not a viable option for teens or one that Christians should encourage.  A recent episode of Friday Night Lights, in my opinion, fumbled an opportunity to take a more direct approach at this option.  Though adoption comes up far too late in To Save a Life, it is still a welcomed plot point that proves to be a blessing for both the adopting and birth parents.

Like every film, To Save a Life has its share of problems, namely with stereotypical, two-dimensional characters and some occasional flat acting.  These minor shortcomings aside, To Save a Life is an absolute breath of fresh air in a genre that desperately needed it.  That I have been immersed in such awful, low-budget Christian films might be skewing this review, but even still, this is a good film that certainly didn’t deserve the scorn heaped on it by mainstream critics whose reviews evidence pre-conceived assumptions rather than honest engagements with the film.

To Save a Life is rated PG-13 for mature thematic elements involving teen suicide, teen drinking, some drug content, disturbing images and sexuality and is available on DVD and Blu-Ray.

How can one who has not yet become human become God? –Irenaeus of Lyon

Joining the nearly endless procession of vampire/supernatural thrillers these days is a BBC production, Being Human, about a ghost, a vampire, and a werewolf that live together as housemates in Bristol, England. (As you do.) The first season or “series,” as they say, is out in America on DVD this summer, and Series 2 is currently being shown on BBC America.

The show has a smaller budget and range than the Alan Ball HBO vampire extravaganza True Blood, which ultimately makes it more fun and less daunting to get into. (None of this, “I am the Queen of Mississippi…” “But I am the King of Alabama…” “But we must respect the Vampire Authority!”). In the British series, the vampires have been infesting the port town of Bristol for a few hundred years, but keeping a low profile. Mitchell (Aidan Turner) a handsome Irish vampire “recruited” during World War I, used to be their hero but now has decided to go cold turkey on the blood feeding and re-integrate himself into humanity–hence the housemates.  George, played by History Boy Russell Tovey, is a nebbishy Jewish/British sort of werewolf, who is dreadfully ashamed of the condition that causes him to sprout hair on his palms when it’s “that time of month.”  Annie (Lenora Crichlow) is the ghost that hangs out in, or haunts, the house–because she died there.

Werewolf George (Russell Tovey), vampire Mitchell (Aidan Turner) and ghost Annie (Lenora Crichlow).

The story arc features less of the elaborate but careful plotting of recent sci-fi/fantasy shows like the aforementioned True Blood, or Battlestar Galactica, or Lost. The vampires in Being Human have big plans for world domination, but seem not to have advanced much beyond a small fraternal order with their own clubhouse in a defunct funeral parlor.  Several of the longer story threads build great tension without much of a payoff. One particularly unsatisfying confrontation between vampire and werewolf in the last episode results in a badly-drawn supernatural standoff with unarmed opponents. Could no one have thought to bring a wooden stake or a silver bullet?

Other aspects of the low budget turn out in the show’s favor.  The special effects are kept to a minimum, with the producers choosing prosthetics and puppetry over CGI, which actually works out as a refreshing homage to the low-rent history of the monster genre.  And because they don’t have as much to go on in the way of effects, the cast does what the Brits do best, which is act.  No one can chew scenery like British character actors, and the head vampire Herrick (Jason Watkins), his lackey Seth (Dylan Brown), and the hideously abusive Owen (Greg Chillin) stand out as some richly performed bad guys. The main characters are an earnest and likable group of young people. (They made a well-received appearance at Comic-Con this July.)

The show works best when the parallels between the monster world and the real world become explicit–the title, “Being Human,” says what it’s really about.  Mitchell’s bloodlust is a metaphor for addiction, as he struggles against a desperate bodily need, and sometimes falls off the wagon with destructive results.  George’s inner wolf is a grand foil to his outer orderly exterior.  (As Mitchell says, “I can never tell if you have Jewish shame or werewolf shame.”)  Perhaps the most poignant condition is expressed in the ghostly Annie as she embodies (or disembodies) the diminution of a soul crushed by spousal abuse.  Society gets its comeuppance in one episode where the townspeople turn on the roommates not because they are monsters, but because of a spurious accusation of child molestation.  And two of the characters have romantic relationships complicated as much by their fears of intimacy as their supernatural conditions.

There is a brief religious subplot when a hospital chaplain is called to check in on the wounded Mitchell.  Rev. Mark (Michael Begley) offers to pray for him, and George says, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.  I’m Jewish, and he’s, well, complicated.”  (The vicar responds, “Jewish people pray, I’ve seen Yentl.”)  Rev. Mark gets used as a kind of human garlic bulb when the vampires try to come for Mitchell and George.  I’ll say this for the vampires, they’re good, ecumenical vampires who are as offended by George’s Star of David necklace as they would be by a cross.  Rev. Mark later gives George some advice from I Corinthians 13:11:  “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child:  but when I became a man, I put away childish things,” which becomes important for George’s development as a character.

The show is not so much religious as mytho-poetic.  The monstrous conditions of these very human characters represent what Carl Jung would call the “shadow,” that part of the personality that a person finds the most terrifying or shameful part of one’s self.  Ultimately, the shadow must be embraced and accepted, without being allowed to dominate or destroy, in order for us to become integrated human beings.  When I became a man and thought like a man, I found this explanation of human darkness more convincing than the orthodox Christian explanation of Original Sin.  The idea that we project all of our human darkness onto the sacrificial Christ rather than facing it and integrating it; the idea that we must grovel for forgiveness for what is an evolutionary component of our being; the idea that our culmination as persons would be dying and excising this necessary part of our human experience like a malignant tumor; started to strike me as, well, childish.  As George says to Annie when she confesses that she wants to get revenge on the man who killed her, “It’s human. Not everything about being human is nice.”  I’ve come to accept that about myself and come to believe in a God who wants me to embrace the totality of what I am–monsters and all.

Bissell’s response to the “are they/are they not art” debate is crystal clear:  “It seems to me that anyone passionate about video games has better things to do than walk chin-first into sucker-punch arguments about whether they qualify as art.  Those who do not believe video games are or ever will be art deserve nothing more goading or indulgent than a smile” (34).  Though Bissell loves (some might argue too much) video games, his love for them does not blind him to the medium’s inherent difficulties with narrative/storytelling, lingering frustrating gameplay, and other aesthetic shortcomings.  Bissell is concerned, however, with a much deeper conversation.  He writes, “I am uninterested in whether games are better or worse than movies or novels or any other form of entertainment.  More interesting to me is what games can do and how they make me feel while they are doing it” (13).

Braid: beautiful, yes, but too frustrating?

We can discuss to no end the differences between and the importance of “framed narratives” and “ludonarratives,” but this is about as interesting and entertaining as an academic conference on sex.  The brilliance of his book, and the joy of reading it, lies in his critiques of the medium, its games, and his own behavior while playing them.  His self-awareness reveals the many ways that video games, given a fervent devotion to them, can having lingering effects on their players.  Moreover, he is also aware that these effects carry with them the potential for ethical/moral reflection and dialogue.  For example, what is our culpability of killing within a first-person-shooter like Modern Warfare 2?  Are these types of video games, and the deaths and injuries within them, realistically violent enough?  What are the relationships between freedom and power in both the narrative and the gameplay of BioShock?  What type of morality governs the world of Grand Theft Auto IV and the behavior of its lead character within it?   Moreover, the evolution in gameplay itself has implications for how we can think about morality and faith in the real world.  Bissell writes, “Anyone who plays modern games such as Gears [of War] does not so much learn the rules as develop a kind of intuition for how the game operates.  Often, there is no single way to accomplish a given task; improvisation is rewarded.  Older games, like Super Mario, punish improvisation:  You live or die according to their algebra alone” (55).  In his latest edited work, Halos and Avatars:  Playing Video Games with God, Craig Detweiller takes a more specific, theological approach to Bissell’s argument and claims that a teenager’s limited use of a video game’s instruction manual might parallel the ways in which (s)he approaches Scripture.

Heavy Rain: the closest link between narrative and gameplay yet?

The key point that Bissell makes regarding the distinction between video games and other forms of entertainment involves what video games set out to do and how we can judge them.  Video games contain an element that novels and films do not:  gameplay.  Unlike novels and many films, story is not, nor does it have to be, at the center of a video game.  Bissell writes, “A game with an involving story and poor gameplay cannot be considered a successful game, whereas a game with superb gameplay and a laughable story can see its spine bend from the weight of many accolades–and those who praise the latter game will not be wrong” (81).  Nevertheless, many of the best games still have a compelling narrative or, despite a weak narrative, create worlds as engrossing as their literary or cinematic counterparts. Resident Evil, the game, was just as adept at creating and sustaining horror or terror as any of its horror film counterparts.  It’s certainly more effective than the films based on it.

Bissell’s book further reveals that we are in a current Golden Age of video games as others, Detweiller, have suggested.  Nearly every game that Bissell writes about in any great detail has released in the last decade or so.  However, he is aware of those gaming highlights of years previous, like the first Resident Evil, for example.  The games that he highlights include Grand Theft Auto IV, Fallout 3, Far Cry 2, BioShock, and Braid.   Though the medium boasts such sophisticated examples, as a whole, it is still limited by both imagination and technology necessary to more effectively further and unite gameplay and narrative.  However, given the speed with which the medium has developed (Bissell argues that it has gone from cave drawings to the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in only two and a half decades), the future is bright indeed.  As Bissell writes, “The generation of game designers currently at work is the first to have a comprehensive growth chart of the already accomplished” (71).

From this...

...to this.

In the author’s note at the beginning of Extra Lives, Bissell writes, “It may be years before anyone arrives at a true understanding of what games are, what they have done to popular entertainment, and how they have shaped the wider expectations of their many and increasingly divergent audiences” (xiv).  Thanks to his work, Bissell has brought us a little closer to that understanding.  For hard-core gamers to anyone remotely interested in the medium, this will be a highly entertaining read.

The Kids are All Right (written and directed by Lisa Cholodenko) tells the story of Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore), a lesbian couple with two teenage children, Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson).  Joni is about to go away to college, and Laser wastes away the summer days goofing off with his best friend.  In fact, these might be two of the most fully realized teenagers in recent film.  Laser eventually decides that he wants to find out the identity of the donor whose sperm his moms used.  Because he isn’t 18, he has Joni make the call to the agency, and soon after, they are united with Paul (Mark Ruffalo), a hip gardener/restaraunt owner, who soon develops a friendly relationship with them.  When their moms find out, Julie accepts their desire to connect with Paul, while Nic, on the other hand, feels like he is invading their family and taking away what little time she has left with Joni before she moves off to college.  Ironically, Nic fails to see that her obsession with work and the demands she places on her family put a wedge between her and the rest of the family that is potentially far more damaging.  A struggling businesswoman who starts up a landscaping company, Julie goes to work for Paul, and their relationship quickly becomes something more than professional, which sends this idyllic family into a tailspin.

Nic (Annette Bening) and Jules (Julianne Moore) tell how they met...hilarious.

Again, Nic and Julie’s marriage is at the center of this film along with all of the ups, downs, and difficulties they face, some of which may be familiar to everyone who has ever been in a long-term relationship and some of which won’t.  There is no mention of any homophobia that they may have faced in their paths towards and with each other, although Laser’s friend constantly calling him a faggot reveals something of the wider environment in which this family exists.  They do face a host of questions about their relationship from their children, the likes of which most straight couples will never have to answer.  Laser asks them why they watch gay male porn…as if he and is friends have never watched two women getting it on online.  On the other hand, when they first meet Paul and tell him how they met provides one of the film’s funniest scenes and, perhaps, one of the funniest moments in film this year.

Joni (Mia Wasikowska) and Laser (Josh Hutcherson) are two of the most realistic cinematic teens you're likely to find.

Laser’s question for his moms leads us to another point of the film.  Along the way, if we look a bit closer, we see the theme of sexuality, in general, as an undercurrent in the film.  Certainly Nic and Julie represent one aspect of that; however, Joni, her best friend Sasha (Zosia Mamet), Laser, and Paul do as well.  Sasha is a hypersexual teenage girl who reminds me more of the over-sexualized teen boys of the American Pie type that we most often find in popular films.  Everything is about sex for her, and this frustrates Joni who is much more conservative in her conversations about and approaches to sexuality.  Laser has a close guy friend, whom Nic and Julie distrust, but expresses little interest in the opposite sex, which leads his moms to wonder if he is in fact gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that!).  Finally, Mark is a too-cool-for-school hipster who enjoys casual sex with a co-worker but begins to want more out of life through his new-found relationship with Joni, Laser, and the moms.  The film also problematizes most people’s dichotomous conceptions of gay and straight in ways that will no doubt lead to some interesting conversations.

The film provides a true-to-life vision of marriage, be it gay, straight, or otherwise.  The Kids are All Right revels in the day-to-dayness of marriage in ways that few other films do.   The fights and complications that arise along the way don’t often happen over one huge issue (although this does occur in the film), but are more often than not the result of a distance that emerges between two people who are caught up in work, child rearing, and other time-consuming activities.  Julie gives an incredibly down-to-earth, impassioned speech about marriage and the pitfalls that await two people who want to enter into that type of relationship or a long term commitment with one another.

With pitch-perfect performances from everyone involved, especially Bening and Moore, The Kids are All Right is another great film that would stand out even if this wasn’t a particularly weak year.  At 104 mins., it’s rated R for strong sexual content, nudity, language and some teen drug and alcohol use.

The White Ribbon takes place in a small north Germany village in the years just before World War I.  It is narrated by the now-aged village schoolteacher (Christian Friedel), who begins by telling us that he is not sure if the story he wants to tell us is completely true or not.  Thus, from the start, an air of uncertainty (logistically and soon morally) dominates the film.  The schoolteacher recounts a string of tragic, disturbing events that plague the small village beginning with a mysterious horse-riding accident that leaves the village doctor (Rainer Bock), with a broken collar bone (someone rigged a trip-wire between two trees).  Shortly thereafter, a peasant farmer’s wife dies in a mill accident, the baron’s son is abducted and beaten, someone destroys the baron’s cabbage crop, and a child is tortured and eventually dies (is murdered?).  The villagers puzzle over who could do such things and begin to suspect each other, although the accusations rarely fly on-screen.  Viewers will quickly begin formulating theories of their own as well, but the brilliance and effectiveness of Haneke’s film is that he yet again leaves us wondering not only who did it but how such events could happen in an otherwise seemingly peaceful town…and that seems to be the point.

The schoolteacher and his romantic interest. One point of hope in this bleak story.

The film has been described as Haneke’s attempt to explain the origins of fascism and Naziism, yet I agree with Roger Ebert’s assessment when he writes, “It’s too simple to say the film is about the origins of Nazism. If that were so, we would all be Nazis.”  Moreover, to explain away fascism/Naziism is to relegate it to a “conquered” portion of history so to speak…as if to say that we’ve got it figured out and can prevent it from happening all over again, when, in reality, we will forever struggle against and try to understand incomprehensible evil.  It’s also too little to say that Haneke is just suggesting that “shit happens.”  Although this is, in a way, a good explanation, shit happens because evil and broken people cause it.  As the saying goes, “Hurt people hurt people.”  Haneke reveals that, though the public tragedies shock the villagers and, by extension, the viewers, the villagers’ secrets are much more disturbing…physical and sexual abuse of children to begin with.

The children pay deference to their minister father and their mother.

Speaking of the children, they are the highlight, if a depressing one, of the film.  One could quickly suspect the children of perpetrating these crimes as retaliation to the often brutally oppressive world in which they are raised.  Two of the children, Klara (Maria-Victoria Dragus) and Martin (Leonard Proxauf), belong to the village minister (Burghart Klausser) who enforces his strict Protestantism on them.  He beats them when they are late for dinner, makes them wear white ribbons to remind them of innocence, and even ties Martin to the bed to prevent him from masturbating.  No wonder many of these kids look like they belong in the Village of the Damned.  In fact, that’s just what their home is.

Haneke’s morally and aesthetically stark film is a challenge to our notions of good and evil, sin, freedom and oppression.  It also provides a vision, much needed I believe, of the ways in which Christianity has often been, and can be, violently oppressive of even its own members.

The White Ribbon is rated R for some disturbing content involving violence and sexuality.

Here is a video of filmmaker Darren Aronofsky interviewing Haneke about the film.