Ready Player One is set in the United States of a distant future. Our world has gone to shit. Global warming, wars, famine, and the like have all taken their toll. So has human neglect as citizens live and thrive in the OASIS, think an immersive (physically and visually) Facebook meets video games experience where people spend more time than in the real world. Their avatars can move from universe to universe (given the right credit balance of course) and compete in quests or develop relationships and friendships. The creator of OASIS, James Halliday, dies and leaves a will that stipulates that his creation and inheritance (many billions of dollars in value) will be left to the one who competes in and completes a quest to find the hidden egg in the system he has created. In the process, the player(s) must obtain three keys and unlock three gates. The book follows the young Wade Watts, a.k.a. Parzival, a teenage gunter (one obsessed with the quest) and his attempts to locate the keys and egg. He and his fellow gunters fear that the egg will fall in the hands of the “Sixers” representatives of an “evil” corporation that would take over OASIS and monetize it, thus pricing out many of the users who benefit from it the most. Along the way, Wade/Parzival makes strong friendships and powerful enemies and arrives at a realization about his virtual and real selves that is mutually dependent on one another.

Cline’s book is packed to the hilt with references to even the most obscure films, video games, television programs, and many other pop cultural artifacts from the ’80s and ’90s. There’s almost an “Oh yeah!!” moment on every page, but they are never distracting. In fact, they virtually drive the plot forward. There’ll no doubt be a bit of score-keeping, and perhaps competition, among readers to see who remembers the most.

At the same time, Ready Player One is a testament to the blessings and curses of virtual worlds and the alternate identities we create to inhabit them. Wade/Parzival is a bit of a loner in both worlds but matures over time through his actions, first in the OASIS and then in the real world. Wade gains a confidence in his real world abilities through his virtual successes and fame. In turn, his real world successes empower his virtual interactions, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. Cline shows that virtual worlds can eradicate all the social barriers that we daily construct to separate ourselves from one another. He also shows how the most unlikely of friendships can not only come from but can be enriched by online interactions.

At the same time, obsessions with virtual worlds (social networks or video games) can lead to increased real world problems through neglect and apathy. It remains to be seen whether or not Wade/Parzival and his friends virtual actions will have positive real world effects. We can tout the benefits of social networks and increased connectivity as individuals, but in what ways are they making our societies better? The tension between the “gunters” and the “Sixers” reveal the tension between those who want to use the OASIS as a free and open space of interaction and communication and those who would use it for monetary gain. In this case, however, both would continue to neglect the troubles that plague what appears to be a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Ready Player One has been locked and loaded in my Kindle for quite some time now. I’m glad I finally got around to reading it because, aside from being an occasionally thought-provoking read, it’s one of the most fun non-real-world experiences I’ve had in a long time.

The Psychology of Joss Whedon is packed with 15 essays, each around 3,000-5,000 words in length. As such, it is a relatively quick read. Though the writing is inconsistent and sometimes distractingly conversational, the essays are suitable for congregational or classroom use, whether leading/teaching a course, section, or discussion group on religion and popular culture or multiple or single “Whedonverses.” The topics here range from neuropsychology, existential psychology, the understanding of the self, the importance of relationships in personal growth, the nature of meaning making in the human experience, and many more. The contributors are working exclusively in the Buffy, Angel, and Firefly/Serenity universes, but not their accompanying comics. This limitation is, of course, due to the book’s date of publication. Other books do consider more of Whedon’s worlds. Read on for a brief discussion of some of the highlights of The Psychology of Joss Whedon.

From a religious/theological perspective, I think a few of the essays here really stand out. In “Mal’s Morals: Evolutionary Pornography,” Robert Kurzban makes a claim for evolutionary moral pornography. That is, we “like to watch” good characters succeed and “baddies” get what’s coming to them. Through this enjoyment we learn moral behavior, and, in the process, we learn that “honor, loyalty, and morality are expensive. They cause you to make important–even life-threatening–sacrifices.” Kurzban engages Firefly and particularly the ways in which Mal acts out of loyalty, honor, and morality, and how this behavior (re)defines each.

In “Free Will in a Deterministic Whedonverse,” Thomas Flamson argues that our popular notions of free will are illusions, but important and even necessary ones for healthy development and functioning. Flamson believes that Whedon’s characters force us to ask, “Can we ever be said to be truly free? and, Do people need to be free?” He gives evidence of studies which show that “people only consciously experience choosing to do something after the neurological processes of doing so have already begun.” This is a truly important essay because of how consistently questions of free will and determinism shape our theological understandings. On the other hand, I would have liked Flamson to say a bit more about how context functions in limiting and increasing the choices we do or can make. While we might have the right to be wrong, a right that the Alliance wanted to take away in Firefly and Serenity, we still are responsible for the choices we make and the actions we take.

“An Analysis of Slayer Longevity: Relationships on the Hellmouth,” by Tracy R. Gleason and Nancy S. Weinfield, argues, essentially, that Buffy is so successful because she relies on a support groups of friends and family to make it through life, rather than following the solo slayer route that has traditionally characterized the job description. This chapter speaks volumes to the importance of community, and their references to healthy psychological development and the events in Buffy could be extended to conversations about faith communities as well. Gleason and Weinfeld argue, “Emotional distance from others creates vulnerability.” It seems to me that this essay has implications for individuals who pursue their faith and spirituality outside community. The whole “spiritual but not religious” mindset seems suddenly empty and lacking. Yet it is important that these communities (especially those of faith) be spaces in which members can express doubts and fears. In Buffy as in The Avengers, Whedon seems to assert that “the rule that someone with superhuman powers must function outside of a social context appears to be an outdated, and even dangerous, requirement.”

“More Than Entertainment: Notes on a Spiritual Recovery and What Jossverse Gave Me That Religion and Therapy Didn’t,” by Stephanie R. Deluse, is the most personal of all the essays. Deluse grew up in a violently strict religious environment that left both emotional, physical, and psychological scars. For her, the world of Buffy helped her more fully heal those wounds, even after she had fled that abusive situation. She talks about her experiences of “empathic viewing” and argues for more explicit viewing practices like that. As such, Deluse’s essay is the most specifically practical contribution to the collection. Here, she encourages viewers to take notes “on the fly” and to spend time reflecting on them after the credits roll to better understand why a particular line of dialogue or plot point grabbed their attention. Deluse points out that Whedon’s worlds contradict religious conservatism because they are often egalitarian and gray where the former are patriarchal and clearly defined. Or, as she writes, “Mal and his crew [in Firefly] offered many opportunities to reflect on shifting meanings of ethics, selfishness, and compassion. [...] Every gray area I encountered in Firefly/Serenity reminded me of the black-and-white clarity I’d left behind, and made me question which way of being is better–if there is such a thing as ‘better.’”

It’s interesting to me that the themes of the essays in The Psychology of Joss Whedon find further expression in The Avengers, Whedon’s latest creation/adaptation. This shows, once again, how important Whedon’s voice is for discussions of psychology (or religion and theology) in our pop culture(s).

Verily I say unto you, since you have done it unto one of the least of these, you have done it unto me. Matthew 25:40

I have to say Bully was not what I expected. I knew this was a documentary about bullying in schools, and that it would feature students and families that had dealt with the issue, including families whose children had committed suicide because of their peers’ harassment. I knew the film had some powerful allies in the entertainment industry like Ellen DeGeneres and Harvey Weinstein (whose passion for championing independent films is matched only by his passion for self-promotion). I knew about the film producers’ fight with the MPAA over the film’s rating.

What I didn’t expect was how unnerving, uncomfortable, and confusing the film would be to watch. I think that’s a strength. What the film does is shine a harsh light on a harsh subject, without a lot of interpretation or analysis. There are no talking heads here to tell us what we’ve seen. At times we’re as unsure as many of the adults in the film as to where the worst of the bullying is happening and where the kids are joshing and pushing boundaries with each other. This is how bullying happens: often right under the noses of parents, teachers, and administrators. It often takes the worst cases of harm, abuse and suicide to alert the community that there’s a problem. And even then, the fallback response seems to be denial.

The most moving and revealing story is that of Alex Libby, a 7th grader who seems to have all the qualities that make him a target of bullies. Born premature, he is physically and socially awkward—small, slight, and sensitive. The camera follows him throughout his days at school, where the harassment starts with his first interactions with other students at the bus stop. His rides to and from school are daily gauntlets of taunts, threats, and physical violence. Every moment of every day, he is hounded: punches, name-calling, a kid standing next to him in the lunch line stealing fries off his tray. He comes home and his parents ask him about his day and he shuts down and clams up. In one heartbreaking scene, Alex’s father finds out he’s being pushed around and tells him if he doesn’t fight back, his younger siblings will face the same treatment, so he’d better man up and stand up for himself.

Alex Libby

Alex’s mother eventually confronts the administration of his school with evidence of her son’s bullying and receives a complete stonewalling. The assistant principal at Alex’s school refers to the students as “cherubs” and insists she’s ridden Alex’s bus and the kids are “good as gold.” I’ve got news for her. No middle school kid is a cherub. At best they’re obnoxious, horny, and smelly, at worst they’re creatures of animalistic cruelty.

We’re introduced to more kids and more families. A lesbian teenager from Oklahoma who not only experiences bullying at school but the complete ostracizing of her family by the supposedly Christian community around them. A 14 year-old girl who is so overwhelmed she brings a gun to school and threatens her abusers, and finds herself in juvenile detention facing a law-and-order sheriff who wants to throw the book at her. And there are the parents of Ty Smalley and Tyler Long, an 11 year-old and 17 year-old, respectively, who committed suicide, leaving their parents behind to become unlikely activists in what seems to be a growing movement to change what has been long-accepted childhood behavior.

I’ve been through this with my own family: my brother was bullied throughout grade school and middle school. I know about the lonely fights of parents against clueless school administrators, the family feelings of isolation, the feeling of powerlessness, and my own regret that I didn’t stand up enough for my brother.

I can say from watching this unfold in my own family that bullying is the worst, most reptilian example of the herd instinct. It comes from an almost evolutionary desire to cull out the different, the awkward, and the unfamiliar. Those of us who were not the target of bullies in school probably turned away when other kids were being bullied and refused to act. Some of us may have joined in the abuse. It is a behavior that has to be actively resisted in large groups of kids (or large groups of humans, for that matter) and that starts with vigilant adults and the few independent-minded students who refuse to stand by and let it happen. And let’s not fool ourselves, every school district has a bullying problem.

The filmmakers have done an excellent job providing resources to try to keep the conversation going. What they try to present in the film is that what counters the behavior of bullying is speaking up and breaking the Darwinian cycle of violence. Bullying is not acceptable. It is not normal. It is not “kids being kids.” It has been tolerated as part of the educational system for too long and it must be stopped.

A note on the fight with the MPAA. The film was initially given an “R” rating, apparently because there were one too many “fucks” in the film. This meant kids under 17 wouldn’t be able to see the film without an adult, and schools wouldn’t be able to show it. My initial reaction was to wonder why the filmmakers didn’t just edit out some of the language and move on. This was eventually what they did and the film was reissued with a PG-13. There are now only two “fucks” in the film; the world is again safe for school children and their delicate sensibilities.

Having seen the film and experienced the impact of the words the bullies use on their victims I now understand that the MPAA is as useless and ignorant as the school administrator who thought middle school students were angels. The MPAA is just one more bureaucracy that doesn’t want to face the realities of the world children live in. Considering the horror of what happens to kids in the film, and the necessity of bringing awareness to it, the ratings board’s quibbling over curse words is beyond myopic, it’s complicit.

Five friends, beauty Jules (Anna Hutchinson), athlete Curt (Chris Hemsworth), scholar Holden (Jesse Williams), nerd Marty (Fran Kranz), and “virgin” Dana (Kristen Connolly), go to Curt’s cousin’s cabin in the woods for a drunken weekend. Little do they know, although a constantly-stoned Marty has his suspicions, that all is not as it seems. In fact, they are part of a controlled sacrificial rite run, ideally, by a group of engineers, lead here by Sitterson (Richard Jenkins) and Hadley (Bradley Whitford). There are other similar rituals taking place around the world. The “lambs” are offerings to “the old gods,” who will destroy the world unless an offering of five such archetypes is made every year.

Five little lambs.

Cabin in the Woods is an intelligent and witty thriller/horror film that has all the jump in your seat moments and blood and gore you could hope for…which is part of the point…and the problem. As it is a scathing commentary on a particular type of theology, it is also an entertainingly self-aware reflection on contemporary pop culture, society’s fascination with it, and how it’s all tied up with economics, religion, and mythology. It’s a well-paced and directed film with fine performances. Although I’d imagine that many viewers will be put off by (as they should?) the lengthy blood-bath during the last third of the film. Still, there are some laugh-out-loud lines, particularly Bradley Whitford’s character reflecting on a failed Japanese sacrifice and the victorious children singing, “What a friend we have in Shinto,” or Marty, recognizing what might be going on after they get to the cabin, “I’m drawing a line in the f*&^#$g sand. Do not read the Latin!”

From a theological perspective, even though I doubt it’s intentional, Whedon and Goddard are calling into question a substitutionary atonement theory that has long been a defining characteristic of more conservative expressions of Christianity and that has, more recently, become a point of contention for more progressive Christian believers. Most recently, Tony Jones has been calling for a “better atonement.” In the film, the “director” of the sacrificial system tells Marty, “You can either die for them, or you can die with them.” He dismisses these two simplistic choices, and he and Dana walk a more truly sacrificial way…I’ll let you find out for yourself how. What kind of gods demand such a sacrifice and what type of believers are they who so readily give it? Regarding the believer, The Cabin in the Woods presents a brief, but interesting, dichotomy between the engineers like Sitterson and Hadley who gamble on how their subjects will die and Mordecai (Tim De Zarn), a player in the rite who is more fanatical about his beliefs. Where the former understand it to be a business, the latter takes it seriously…as did, apparently, the one-time owners of the cabin.

Closely paralleling this theological critique, is Whedon and Goddard’s analysis of our contemporary popular culture and our obsession with the violence in it. The tropes of the horror genre have been encoded in our own collective consciousness (whether we know it or not), much like more traditional religious myths. Like the engineers in The Cabin in the Woods, we simultaneously create and are entertained by this violent mythology. We have gotten used to the violence…we expect it. But, as Truman (Brian White)…catch the name?…asks, “Should [we]?” For all it’s truth telling, and brilliant as it is, the problem with The Cabin in the Woods is that it’s critique of our obsession with and immunity to the horrors of the genre…and even a central component of so many people’s theology…is couched in a film that is a paragon of violence and horror. Of course, when Hadley says, “We have to keep the customers satisfied,” he’s talking about both the old gods in the film and the viewers in the theaters.

The engineers of sacrifice.

An unfortunately reality of The Cabin in the Woods is that, if you look close enough, it all hits a bit too close to home. We (our wider culture) are sacrificing way more than five youths to appease a host of gods on a daily basis. Who are they…the sacrificial lambs and the gods to which we sacrifice them? How do we sacrifice them? For what? These are a handful of tough questions, the answers to which, like the scenes of sacrificial rites the world over, will be different both between and within different cultures. Another question is, like the nerd and the “virgin” in the film, will we stand up and say enough is enough?

The Cabin in the Woods (95 mins.) is rated R for strong bloody horror violence and gore, language, drug use, and some sexuality/nudity and is in theaters everywhere. I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of all there is to talk about after seeing the film. I highly recommend it.

Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments of 1956 is the most well known biblical epic of the 20^th century. For those who saw it in the theater in the fifties or have watched it on television as an Easter/Passover tradition since 1973, Charlton Heston will always be Moses, and the scenes shot in the Sinai desert with thousands of Egyptian extras will be the indelible images of the Exodus.

But few people know that the 1956 film was to some extent a remake, as DeMille had already shot the story of Moses and the Israelites in a spectacularly popular silent version of The Ten Commandments, released in 1923. It was DeMille’s first big biblical feature, and it forever changed the direction of his career and his legacy as a director.

Prior to 1923, DeMille had become known for sex and society films with titles like Old Wives for New (1918), Don’t Change Your Husband (1919), and Why Change Your Wife? (1920). A particular DeMille trademark was scenes involving naked women in bathtubs. So when he held a contest in 1922 for fans to name the theme of his next film, it was a bit of a surprise when he chose the suggestion, “If you break the Ten Commandments—they will break you” as the guiding quote for his new epic. Many wondered if DeMille was the proper director to create a film about a scriptural story held sacred by both Jews and Christians.

In order to drive home the point of the continuing importance of the Decalogue, DeMille and his scenarist, Jeanie MacPherson, created a two-part story in which the Israelite Exodus acts as a frame for a modern morality tale about two brothers, their pious mother, and their differing views on the relevance of the Commandments in the Roaring Twenties.

In a 90-minute feature, this meant DeMille had no time to spare, with about 45 minutes to tell the story of the Exodus and Moses’ receiving the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. So the 1923 version is missing many classic scenes from the 1956 film, like the basket on the Nile, the burning bush, and Moses’ discovery of his Hebrew origins. (Not to mention the love triangle between Moses, Rameses, and the throne princess Nefretiri.) The story picks up en medias res at the plagues and jumps quickly to the Exodus and the parting of the Red Sea.

Theodore Roberts parts the Pacific Ocean somewhere outside of Santa Barbara

Theodore Roberts plays Moses, locking horns with George DeRoche as Pharaoh. At age 60, Roberts plays a considerably older prophet with a long Father Time beard, but still pulls off a dynamic performance. DeRoche is beefy and formidable, but possesses none of the Oriental androgyny and cold arrogance of Yul Brynner. In this version Moses’ sister Miriam (Estelle Taylor) conspires with Dathan (Lawson Butt) to build the golden calf—an unfair narrative invention which negates Miriam’s role as a woman-hero of the Old Testament. In the orgy scene, DeMille lets loose his lady-in-the-bathtub fantasies, filming Miriam writhing on the calf idol as the Israelites descend into graphic decadence.

The outdoor scenes in “Egypt” were filmed on a massive set built on the Guadalupe-Nipomo dunes south of Santa Barbara. For the weeks of filming on the California coast, DeMille constructed a tent encampment of 3500 actors, technicians, and extras, divided into 14 companies of men and 7 companies of women, and governed by strict rules against alcohol, gambling, fraternizing, and coarse language. Among the extras were 225 Orthodox Jews, hired to “look like their ancestors.”

DeMille’s exterior set for the Pharaoh’s city was 750 feet wide by 109 feet high, and included an avenue of 21 plaster sphinxes. He ordered 250 chariots for the chase scene to the “Red Sea,” along with the horses to pull them, and stables to include 5,000 donkeys, sheep, goats, and camels. The cost of shooting the film quickly spiraled out of control, nearly causing Paramount to pull funding from the film. One desperate missive from producer Adolph Zukor in Los Angeles was sent to “Camp DeMille” by telegraph:

“C.B.—You have lost your mind. Stop filming and return to Los Angeles at once.—A.Z.”

The Ten Commandments was the first studio film to use Technicolor. In order to get in on DeMille’s epic, Technicolor offered to shoot sections of the Exodus scene alongside the regular black and white cameras for free. If DeMille didn’t like the footage, he didn’t have to use it. The Technicolor footage was edited into the mostly black and white film, along with traditional toned tinting and the Handschliegl process of hand-coloring elements of a scene frame-by-frame.

The spectacular set built on the dunes of the California coast

The action sequences in the 1923 version are every bit as exciting as the 1956 version. If anything, the desperation of the Egyptians as they chase after the Israelites seems more intense as horses, chariots, and riders go tumbling over the powdery dunes.

The special effects of the fiery pillar and the parting of the Red Sea are enjoyable for their low-tech innovation. The “pillar” of fire was more of a curtain – actual flames superimposed on the screen through double exposure. The parting of the Red Sea was accomplished by use of molded gelatin set on top of a metal table, melted by gas jets. Running the film in reverse in fast motion achieved the sense of the waters parting and standing at jiggling attention. Certain low-budget effects and anachronisms, like the Children of Israel holding staffs with Stars of David (King David didn’t come along until centuries later) and toy horses and chariots sinking in a shallow tub of water after being “drowned” in the Red Sea, only add to the charm of the feature.

Make no mistake, however, this spectacular telling of a biblical narrative was like nothing anyone had ever seen at the time. According to reports of the New York premiere in the Times, the audience applauded at the parting of the Jell-O sea. The Hollywood opening, held, fittingly, in Grauman’s Egyptian Theater, complete with a Vaudeville-style live prologue, “A Night in Pharaoh’s Palace” must have only added to the spectacle.

With false modesty, DeMille dismissed the film’s unheard-of cost of 1.5 million as the “cheapest picture that was ever made.” As he said in a December 23, 1923 article in the New York Times:

“This spectacle will show people that we have an obligation to the public and that motion pictures can be more than mere stories […] The reason for the spectacle in ‘The Ten Commandments’ is to bring force to the picture […] The idea of the spectacle as it is presented is worth a million.”

The modern story of the McTavish family—the good son John, the bad son Dan, and their Bible-wielding mother—is less interesting, with the exception of one breathtaking scene shot from the rising steeples of Saints Peter and Paul Church showing a bustling 1920’s San Francisco beneath. DeMille’s desire to make a more complete story of Moses without the modern interruption was part of why he re-shot the film in 1956.

After shooting wrapped on the dunes outside Santa Barbara, the sets were dynamited and bulldozed into the sand. The area is now a protected seashore and wildlife refuge, but beachcombers sometimes find artifacts from “ancient Egypt” in the dunes. For years, there have been rumors that vast sections of the great set still sit intact beneath the sand, but film historians and archaeologists have been unable to get either the permission or the funding to excavate.

The use of such vast resources of material, time, and people set a strong precedent for biblical epics to come, whether directed by DeMille or not. Whatever the religious message of the first Ten Commandments, the message to Hollywood was clear: When it comes to filming the Bible, bigger is better, and no cost is too great.

A restored version of the 1923 Ten Commandments is part of the 3-disc 50^th Anniversary Collector’s Edition of The Ten Commandments, released by Paramount Home Video in 2006. For a highly readable recent biography of DeMille, including accounts of the making of the 1923 and 1956 films, see Scott Eyman’s Empire of Dreams (reviewed by Ryan last year) published by Simon and Schuster in 2010.

Grossman left The Magicians with one wicked cliffhanger. We pick up The Magician King with the return of Quentin to Fillory, a magical land reminiscent of Narnia. In fact, he and his friends, Elliot, Julia, and Janet, are Kings and Queens of Fillory. When out on a hunt for the “seeing rabbit,” tragedy strikes and sets in motion a journey to prevent both the collapse of Fillory and the disappearance of magic everywhere.

Though the book’s title, The Magician King, directly refers to Quentin, it is really two parallel stories. One half of the book follows Quentin’s quest to find seven golden keys, while the other tells the story of Queen Julia’s rise to great magician heights. While all the other magical characters were undertaking their education at Brakebills (think a hipper version of Hogwarts), Julia was on an independent quest to become a hedge witch. And it is this story, one so full of so many highs and lows, of desperate loneliness, confusion, depression, abuse, self-sacrifice and ultimate triumph, that is, in my opinion, the heart and strength of the book. Julia’s journey isn’t necessarily a coming of age tale so much as it is one of her becoming who she has been meant to be, a transition that stretches far beyond some evolution from childhood to adolescence or on to adulthood.

At the same time, Quentin’s experience is also a story of self-discovery and becoming. Quentin’s most valuable lesson might be in learning that playing an invaluable role in someone else’s story is one of the greatest parts you can play. Though much of his story in the book involves his often-frustrated quest for the keys, a metaphor for his own selfish desires for heroism and immortality, it too offers rich insights into themes of atonement and sacrifice.

In The Magician King, Grossman begins to scratch deeper into the origins or sources of magic in the worlds that he has created. He does this through Julia’s insatiable appetite for learning and perfecting magic. Along with her “independent classmates,” they undertake their own research (journey) that leads them to a surprising interreligious conclusion regarding the origins of magic.

In the same dichotomy between Quentin’s experience at Brakebills and Julia’s independent magic training, we find interesting implications for contemporary reflections on and work in higher education. What role(s) does the academy play in shaping our educational experiences? What should they be willing to sacrifice to adapt to changing times and scenarios? What are, if any, the constants that should continue to define educational experiences across disciplines and locations?

The Magician King is full of Grossman’s signature humor and style, one that recalls pop culture references right alongside his own fantastical creations as if the two belong together in seamless fashion. It’s difficult to gauge the book’s ending. That is to say, whether or not Grossman has an idea for a sequel. There’s certainly more to unpack here with the major characters involved, so here’s hoping for more thought-provoking, magical insight from such an entertaining writer.

BENJAMIN DREW GRIFFIN: It just might be impossible to discuss contemporary Christian music (CCM) without acknowledging the ever-looming stigma of saccharine sentimentality and ubiquitous hand-raising. From the openly faithful joy of Amy Grant to the gratingly dodgy posturing of Creed, there seems to be a stereotypical understanding of Christian music consisting of either mega-church mentality or watered down rock wannabes. One of these categories, however, is perfectly acceptable. For many of the faith, there is powerful praise to be found in eschewing the organ for an acoustic guitar (there is, however, no such allowance for fans of Creed). For many others, CCM can either be a hindrance or simply an annoyance when it comes to their worship. Whether it’s preference for the old-time hymns or simply a matter of musical palate, it is undeniable that for many CCM is not how they would choose to “Shout to the Lord (all the earth, let us sing…).”

Aside from our traditional chants or hymns, where is the new music for the rest of us? Are we simply left to glean whatever spiritual resonance we can from the general human experience transmitted through “secular” music? Or is it better, after all, not to bother with the ‘devil’s music’ and leave the world to its own devices? Well, what if I was to tell you that Christians are everywhere making every single type of music you can think of? Do you love the Norwegian variety of death metal but ain’t too comfortable with the whole Satan-worshiping/church burning nonsense? Well, why don’t you check out Zao, Becoming the Archetype, or numerous others belonging to the massive and massively metal Christian label, Solid State?

YouTube/Becoming the Archetype: How Great Thou Art

Now, keep in mind, I am not talking about artists simply aping styles for the sake of CCM.  Although such trends occur (prompting in me the desire to find CCM’s Nikki Minaj…), I am talking about earnest artists attempting to create expressions of fully embodied praise through art, CCM free. Musical exploration, honest self-expression, and, yes, spiritual devotion all wrapped up in packages many would never recognize as Christian if they weren’t told or didn’t pay close attention.

Take for example indie rock’s darling genius, Sufjan Stevens (featured image, above, left). Too many times have I encountered articles or conversations that discuss his “Biblical allusions” as if his preoccupation with spirituality equates simply with his love for literature. But, let’s be honest here, he wrote a love song from the point of view of Christ for his close friend (and occasional musical partner) Reverend Vito. This wasn’t simply a matter of congratulating a friend; it was a matter of creating a deeply affecting and beautiful theological reflection on what it means to give every ounce of your being to Christ.

YouTube/Vito’s Ordination Song, from Sufjan Stevens’ 2003 album, Michigan

I must make it known that I have no real qualms with CCM. I was personally quite a fan when I was younger (for a brief time, at least). Above, I commented on how CCM often riffs on various popular styles, existing as an amorphous attempt at capturing popular attention in the name of Christ. When I was in high school, I worked at a Christian bookstore for the express purpose of the delightfully robust music section they offered. During my time, I found an absolutely fantastic band that was, for all intents and purposes, a Christian version of 311. As an avid fan of 311 myself, I was overjoyed to stumble upon a group of Christians who took their love for that particular brand of reggae-rap-rock and utilized it to praise God.

Perhaps the most well known examples (and one of my childhood loves) are Christian superstars, dcTalk. Perhaps you’ve heard their Nirvana-aping hit “Jesus Freak.” Well, did you know they began as a rap group? Oh yes, awkward early 90’s ‘decent Christian’ rap. I am not questioning the veracity of their faith nor challenging their right to evolve musically, but there is an argument to be made for their existence as what amounts to a Christian boy-band. Three lead singers, backed by an ever-evolving session band, shifting from rap to grunge to soft rock, dcTalk were undeniably Christian mega stars but were not necessarily the most original musicians. Sure, Toby McKeehan went on to explore some interesting rap/dancehall solo records (since evolving into more pop-power rock) but, as dcTalk, they embody the sort of CCM that I do not wish to explore: over-produced, pop-culturally malleable, evangelistic music. Once again, not to say that there isn’t a lot of earnest beauty to be found in such music (dcTalk’s song ‘Red Letters’ still tears me up), there’s just a more fascinating and challenging realm out there.

An artist who exemplifies what I am suggesting is Derek Webb. As the former guitarist/singer of CCM mega-stars Caedmon’s Call, these days he’s finding it hard even to get his music into Christian stores. He went from standing before packed churches, preaching to believers about the confessions of their hearts to touring the smaller, perhaps decidedly more liberal churches. What happened? Well, it seems when you stick up for the love of your brothers and sisters whatever their sexual orientation, some Christians just can’t suffer to stand by love. I even once had the absolute pleasure of watching him piss off a large crowd of Georgia conservatives by being decidedly anti-Bush and anti-war because, gasp, Jesus seems to have a thing about not striking back. Whether it’s embracing the word “whore” to describe our fidelity to God or rallying against government corruption, Derek Webb is exactly the sort of theologically challenging and musically diverse artist many simply don’t know exists.

YouTube/Derek Webb: What Matters More

Again, the musical range is nigh infinite.  There have been musical movements such as Christian hip-hop, punk, indie, and the Christian parallel of the ska-boom in the late 90’s typified by bands like O.C. Supertones and Five Iron Frenzy. Instead of merely adapting to the popular sound of the day, these were bands that appeared as earnest representations of the movement. While the Supertones were known to break out the acoustic guitars at shows for some good ol’ hand-waving Jesus praisin’, Five Iron Frenzy wore their love for Christ on their sleeves right along side their disparaging distrust of American patriotism and disturbingly prevalent Christian homophobia (these aren’t the only themes that mark the Christian alternative, I promise). While the Supertones might lean more towards evangelism of which I previously mentioned, FIF certainly buck against the CCM stereotypes.

YouTube/Five Iron Frenzy: Anthem

So, let’s be honest here: I’m a Christian ‘hipster’ (*shudder*). What I wish to highlight is an alternative take of what many consider Christian music. There are contemporary Christian musicians that evangelize for the fringe, wave the flag for the weird, and extol the theologically challenging. Like Christ’s table itself, the Christian music world consists of the sinners, the irksome, the angry, and, of course, the doubters—music that doesn’t simply sing love songs to our Lord Up Above but rather those that seek to be consumed by that love here below. Whether they’re alternative, mainstream, or just plain weird, everyone’s invited to the table and everyone’s welcome to bring their instruments along.

Cyril (captivating newcomer Thomas Doret) is an abandoned boy living in a boys’ home. He desperately wants to find out where his father has gone. When he skips school to search his old apartment, his teacher/guardians give chase, and he bumps into and clings to a random woman, Samantha (the stunning Cecile De France). She takes a liking to Cyril and agrees to keep him on weekends. She also helps him look for his father. Cyril falls in with the wrong crowd and commits a violent act that has deep repercussions for Samantha and himself.

The film is beautifully shot with the camera obsessing over Cyril whenever he’s in the shot. It’s also smoothly edited with a poignant score that helps drive home key moments (Cyril’s epiphanies?) in the film. The parts are superbly acted by everyone, but particularly Doret and De France in the lead roles. Dardenne regulars like Olivier Gourmet and Jeremie Renier return. Once again, the brothers know when to speak (or let their characters speak) and when to hold back. As usual, and unlike so many of their counterparts, they hold back and the experience of watching the events play out is all the more richer for it.

Cyril (Thomas Doret) is searching for so much, but first his father.

There’s a continuity to the Dardennes work that transcends repeat casting. They are again working in small spaces with both broken and nontraditional families. One wonders if the Cyril/absentee father isn’t a sign of things to come for the story in l’Enfant. The echoes are there beyond Renier’s performances in each film. They’re also working in moral, spiritual, ethical territory again that I find so fertile.

Cyril is desperate for love…particularly the love of his father. Unfortunately, we never hear about his mother. All of his aggression and misbehavior stems from this frustrated pursuit. Yet at the same time, he fails to see the bounteous, grace-filled love that is there in front of him in Samantha’s selflessness and hospitality. Cyril craves male role models so desperately that he falls straight in with the first older male to show him any attention, the town thug known simply as “The Dealer.” When he does a favor for his new role model, things quickly spiral out of control.

"The Dealer" offers Cyril "respect."

One of the many strengths of the Dardenne’s work is their strong sense of ethics and morality. Like few contemporary filmmakers, they consistently present narratives in which choices have deep, consistent, unforseen, yet completely realistic consequences. Such is the case with Cyril. When he eventually encounters the father and son victims of the work he did for The Dealer, the father forgives him, but the son will not. Samantha agrees to pay the father’s restitution demands, and just as we think Cyril is off too easy, the son encounters Cyril and pursues him to seek revenge. In doing so, Cyril is nearly mortally wounded and the victim becomes the violator. Though it is never spoken, it is crystal clear that, in their own ways, both Cyril and his victims have learned deep lessons about violence and how to respond to it. As a result, the Dardenne’s film becomes an important vision for our own violent times.

At the same time, the film is a strong call to consider a marginal(ized) group that often goes unnoticed in our own society, orphans. Samantha’s reaction to and acceptance of Cyril is a model of selfless love that we could all emulate, and it is a strength of the Dardenne’s touch that they never make it sappy. There’s a simplicity to The Kid With a Bike (as to most of the Dardenne’s filmss) that betrays a rich depth that will reward multiple viewings and reflection.

See it as soon as you are able. While you wait, catch up on their other films, like La Promesse, Le Fils, and l’Enfant.  LIST.

Having just completed and defended my dissertation, my hard drive is now littered with bits and pieces of research that didn’t make the final cut of my 270-page magnum opus. One of the discoveries I made during the course of my work was that Hollywood has always had an aversion to risk-taking when it comes to new properties. Hence the current “saga-mania” (most recently The Hunger Games) that hooks viewers in for multiple films. (After the end of Deathly Hallows Part II, I calculated that I had logged 19 hours and 37 minutes of movie theater time to get through the whole Harry Potter story.)

The same is true for old properties that get revived again and again. And nothing gets revived like religious epics. I have already written about Quo Vadis, the 1951 MGM spectacular, for PopTheology. This was one of a long string of adaptations of Henryk Sienkiewicz’s beloved novel of Christian martyrs in ancient Rome. Even before 1951, there were three versions put on film without sound, a 1901 French film, and two Italian versions, one in 1913, one in 1925. Since 1951, there has been a 1985 mini-series starring Max von Sydow and a 2001 version shot in Poland. If you’re scoring at home, that’s six film productions of the novel.

Ben-Hur has had a similar string of productions, including a recent 2010 British mini-series. Of course the most famous production of Ben-Hur is the 1959 MGM film starring Charlton Heston, which has been matched but never exceeded in Oscar haul. But one that nearly measures up as spectacle and entertainment is the 1925 MGM silent production, starring Ramon Novarro as Judah Ben-Hur and Francis X. Bushman as Messala.

The treadmill set-up for Erlanger and Klaw's long-running Ben-Hur stage show

Adaptations of Civil War General Lew Wallace’s 1880 novel go back to pre-film days. Ben-Hur was first adapted as a Broadway play, produced by Marc Klaw and Abraham Erlanger, beginning in 1899. The play included a chariot race with live horses on treadmills and a massive cyclorama screen rotating in the background. It was revived subsequently many times, in the 20 years or so before films took over the place of spectacle in the theater. A live version of Ben-Hur was re-staged in 2009 in London at the Greenwich O2 Arena, involving a circus-like set and a chariot race.

In 1907, Kalem Company produced the first filmed version—a 15-minute silent version produced in New York, including a chariot race staged by the Brooklyn Fire Department on Manhattan Beach. Unfortunately, this film embroiled Kalem in one of the first film-based copyright infringement suits, since they failed to secure rights to the story from the Lew Wallace estate. (You can watch an unrestored version on YouTube without getting sued by the Lew Wallace estate.)

The 1925 version was the first major production of the newly formed Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer super-studio, and it nearly bankrupted the company right off the bat. Inherited two years into production from the Goldwyn company, the production MGM signed onto was already a mess–shooting had gone disastrously in Italy and the film was already well over budget.

The biggest calamity happened during the famous naval battle scene, which was shot using actual ships constructed in Italian shipyards. The burning oil used to create smoke effects on the wooden vessels started to catch the ships on fire, and hundreds of Italian extras dove into the water, fleeing for their lives. (This certainly adds a bit of realism to the filmed footage.) Unfortunately, this was in a time before people were regularly taught how to swim. The director, Fred Niblo, and the producers stayed mum on the details, but it’s thought that several extras may have drowned.

The film’s star, Ramon Novarro, was one of the early gay stars of Hollywood (although he could hardly have been open about his sexual orieantation back then.) A native of Mexico, he was promoted as a “Latin lover” type, set up in competition with Rudolph Valentino. Despite the presence of Novarro, however, there seems to be less gay subtext to this film than the 1959 version, which benefitted from the writing contributions of Gore Vidal.

Novarro actually looks like more of an effete young prince, unlike the strapping Charlton Heston. Francis X. Bushman, with his huge arms and massive body, is a big brute and really comes across as a lummox. Novarro’s character is no match for brawn of Bushman, and Bushman’s character seems no match for brains of Novarro.

Pre-Code Messala and the sexy vamp Iras. Note subtitle: "A Tale of the Christ."

As with many biblical epics, Ben-Hur was on the cutting edge of film technology. There are two passages filmed using an early two-strip Technicolor process: the Nativity scene and Ben-Hur’s heroic entry into Rome. The latter involved topless women strewing flowers before Ben-Hur. The lore around the film is that Niblo imported French women for these roles because he felt Italian women were too hefty. Ah, the days before the Production Code.

And it is pre-Code decadence that is perhaps the most memorable part of this film. Besides the topless women, there is full rear male nudity during the galley sequence. In one scene before the chariot race, Messala puts the moves on Iras, the most dangerous woman west of Asia Minor, and it’s strongly suggested they have sex. A galley slave is beaten to death with whips. During the naval battle with the pirates, a half-naked Roman captive is tied to the bowsprit of a ship as it rams it into a Roman galley.

The whole naval battle sequence seems to have been shot with the orders, “Okay, roll the cameras! Now, you guys beat the crap out of each other!” A ridiculous pirate named “Golthar the Horrible” impales Roman heads and holds bodies aloft on spears. As the battle rages, trapped slaves hang themselves from their chains in the hold of the ship. “A Tale of the Christ,” indeed.

The Christ story is treated in a kind of “greatest hits” fashion in Ben-Hur. The Nativity scene in the 1925 film really is a beautiful example of early color special effects. But from then on, Christ takes on a decidedly supporting role. He is always blocked from view, seen only as a sandaled foot, a glowing hand, or a shaft of light. The one interaction between Ben-Hur and Christ comes when the Ben-Hur is being driven through the desert by the Romans as part of a gang of slaves. Delicate Christ hands stop their work at carpentry and offer him a drink of water.

The light treatment of the Christ story didn’t keep reviewers from gushing over the film’s “religious” significance. As Edwin Schallert wrote in his review for the Los Angeles Times on January 3, 1926:

The march of [the events of the film] is like the oncoming of a mighty phalanx hurled without reserve or question at the one objective of victory. They are rich, lavish, and prodigal to a degree unimagined and unprecedented…Yet—all of these things pale and become naught before such a magic touch as that when a hand mystically linked with divine eternity stretches forth to extend a cup of water to the driven, crushed and beaten here as he struggles across the desert to the sea under the lash of the Romans.

Whatever. There is simply no comparison between the impact of an actor playing Christ’s hands offering a cup of water and the spectacle of nude bodies, horses and chariots charging, hacking swordplay, and spectacular costumes and sets that combine jazz age and classical paganism.

After the Italian naval scene disaster, Louie B. Mayer ordered the crew back to California to finish the film, including the chariot race. This involved building a massive Roman circus in Culver City. Much of Hollywood declared a holiday to come out and see the race, creating crowd scenes loaded with 1920s Hollywood royalty. If you look fast enough during the crowd shots, you might spot Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Harold Lloyd, John and Lionel Barrymore, Lilian and Dorothy Gish, Sid Grauman, Samuel Goldwyn, Myrna Loy, Joan Crawford, Clark Gable, Gary Cooper, and Fay Wray. $5,000 was promised to the rodeo wranglers driving the chariots for whomever won the race. There was one spectacular crash, which you can see at the end of the race, a multi-chariot pile-up. The credits should have included the disclaimer, “The Los Angeles Humane Society has confirmed that many animals were harmed in the making of this film.”

Like the 1959 version, which was an attempt to save MGM from decline as it competed with television, the 1925 version was a bet-the-house proposition. The 1925 film grossed about 4.3 million, barely squeaking by the final production cost of $3.9 million. It held the record for most expensive film ever made well into the 1940’s, even against such budget-busters as Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz. Ben-Hur was also the most expensive silent production made until last year’s The Artist, which cost $15 million. Adjusted for inflation, however, The Artist doesn’t even come close. In 2012 dollars, Ben-Hur’s cost would stand at over $50 million.

The 1925 Ben-Hur is included in the four-disc collectors edition DVD released in 2005, and in the 50^th anniversary “Ultimate Collector’s Edition,” released on Blu-Ray in 2011, both by Warner Home Video. For more on the story of the 1925 Ben-Hur, see the chapter “The Heroic Fiasco” in Kevin Brownlow’s classic Hollywood history text, The Parade’s Gone By.

Just under halfway through Niven and Pournelle’s story, a several-thousand-kilometers-wide comet hits Earth, effectively shifting the environment as we know it and putting all of life in severe jeopardy. The second half of the book follows groups of survivors as they attempt to make sense of what has happened and rush to set things in motion for their survival and gradually (ever so slowly) build their lives back. The center of the recovery (or one of them) is The Stronghold, a ranch belonging to Senator Arthur Jellison. He is kind but practical, helped along by his right-hand-man, Al Hardy. A local rancher, George Christopher, co-manages the situation with a firmer hand, undertaking all the more difficult tasks and questions that a rapid return to less civilized ways of life require. Among the many inhabitants of The Stronghold are Harvey Randall, a documentary filmmaker who covered the discovery of and subsequent reaction to the comet’s (then) potential to hit Earth; Tim Hamner, the amateur astronomer who discovered the comet; Harry Newcombe, the mailman/messenger for the Senator’s town; and Maureen Jellison, the Senator’s daughter, who is caught in a love triangle with Harvey and George and, eventually, Johnny Baker, the American astronaut who miraculously returns from his mission after the comet hits. The survivors must ward off roving cannibals, claims to leadership from other surviving communities, and eventually a religious/military cooperative that threatens to undo one of the last, and most important, links they have to their former existence.

The book is a page-turner…or a Kindle-clicker. There’s a quick pace here as the authors forego any temptation to have the characters go off on long bouts of self-reflection on the impending destruction of humankind. For the characters, it’s act, act, act. The only drawback might be the sheer number of characters that we have to keep up with, which, at times, can be disorienting. Other than that, it’s a thrilling read that keeps your attention all the way through.

Published in 1977, some of the technological components in the narrative seem dated, but the characters’ reflection on them and their dependence on them do not. If anything, the intervening decades since its publication make Lucifer’s Hammer all the more relevant. Like Earth Abides by George Stewart, this narrative reveals just how quickly everything we take for granted could be taken away from us and, as a result, just how incapable of rebuilding those “luxuries” we would really be. At the same time, it is a none-too-thinly veiled indictment of the disconnectedness of our modern lives, which again, has only intensified in the last several decades. We are disconnected from one another, struggle to connect our work lives to home lives, and desperately search for meaning in what we do. In the book, the comet collision gives all these characters a chance to start over, to find significance and value in their contributions to the recovery of human life.

Of course, there are other characters who see things differently. One character, the Rev. Henry Armitage, is a minister who interprets the comet as God’s punishment of the wicked. His followers must repent but, strangely enough, also continue to destroy any remaining human creations that further separate them from their reliance on God and one another. That means all technology that could help re-build civilization must go. He and his followers build a strange coalition with a group of cannibals and former soldiers in an effort to enact their theological vision. The former military men are more than happy to have the spiritual and emotional propaganda (backing) that the minister and his followers bring. It’s a prophetic parallel to contemporary religious leaders that attempt to interact with global politics in order to bring about conditions “necessary” for the Second Coming.

The situation within The Stronghold raises the most enticing moral and ethical questions. Who do the survivors let into their community? Who do they turn away? What are the ethics of inclusion? That is, how do they behave when settled in? How moral can they be? What do they do with rule-breakers and who makes the rules? As Senator Jellison puts it, “Civilizations have the morality and ethics they can afford. Right now we don’t have much, so we can’t afford much.”

There are drawbacks to Niven and Pournelle’s vision. A re-set humanity is still dominated by a patriarchal system that begins to look like something related to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. There is little attention to events outside the United States’ borders, save for references to natural disasters that completely wipe out entire countries and, yes, continents. Nevertheless, Lucifer’s Hammer is still a fun read that could get readers to think about how to live more sustainably and communally, whether they’re worried about the impending end of the world or not.