Thankfully, in the recent publication, Halos and Avatars:  Playing Video Games With God, editor Craig Detweiler and his contributors forego the well-worn arguments of whether or not video games promote violence and take a deeper look at their theological and spiritual potential.  A Belgian film, Ben X, reveals such potential while continuing to raise questions about video games as violence-inducing or as a location to vent pent-up violence.

Ben X tells the story of Ben (Greg Timmermans) a teenager with severe autism.  He has been a quiet child all of his life and found it extremely difficult to interact with others outside his family, particularly in large groups.  Yet, due to his high intelligence, his parents (at his father’s insistence) keep him in the mainstream educational system.  Unfortunately, his classmates tease him mercilessly and occasionally physically abuse and humiliate him.  To compound his difficulty in relating to others, he must control a growing anger and desire to lash out that festers in him.

For apparent entertainment and escape, Ben plays ArchLord, an MMORPG (massively multiplayer on-line role playing game), several hours a day.  He is quite successful at it from both a gamers’ perspective (he has reached level 80) and a social interaction perspective (he has befriended a female gamer who even wants to meet him when she learns of his real-world difficulties).  Things go from bad to worse for Ben after a particularly humiliating prank (video of which circulates on the internet) and a failed attempt at retaliation.  He goes to the train station to meet Scarlite (Laura Verlinden) but cannot bring himself to talk to her, and she leaves, disappointed.  Ultimately, Ben feels that suicide is the only way out and even asks his parents for their help.  I’ll save the brilliant, effective ending so as not to spoil it.

Scarlite and Ben contemplate his suicide.

Ben X works on a variety of levels.  From a gamers’ perspective, it reveals the therapeutic potential of video games.  Ben is not violent because he plays ArchLord but is violent, rather, because he is being abused at school.  In fact, ArchLord allows him to fight back without hurting others and to image revenge in real-life without actually striking back.  It also allows him to nurture a social interaction without the threats and fears that plague his real-world relationships.

On a theological level, it perfectly embodies Marjorie Suchocki’s notions of creative, non-violent responses to violence.  In fact, it was a selection in her Whitehead International Film Festival two years ago.  Examples of this are clearly evident in the ending that I do not want to give away.  Suffice it to say, it is worth watching and talking about for quite some time after.

Ben X is a perfect film for parents and teenagers to watch together (especially if either or both are gamers).  It is available on DVD through Netflix.

As far as pop-culture creations are concerned, The Wire is pretty much unbeatable across a number of genres.  Most critics worth their salt argue that it is, and will likely remain, the greatest television series in the history of the medium.  We’ve yet to see the end of, much less a beginning to, the creative responses that it will likely engender from imitation series to collections of essays and articles about the series cultural impact.  Thus far, the greatest response has been The Wire:  Truth Be Told by Rafael Alvarez, a comprehensive guide to the series.

This book leaves little unturned regarding The Wire.  It is worth the purchase price just for David Simon’s introduction, a 20-page account of the birth of the series.  The following section is a copy of the letter that Simon wrote to HBO executives convincing them to air the series.  The next article is an essay on President Obama’s love of the series.  From there on out, the book is divided into seasonal chapters.  In each chapter, the first section is a general overview of the season, followed by a succinct but insightful summary of each episode therein.  Peppered throughout each episode summary are sections that provide behind the scenes information, primarily accounts of the real people who inspired characters like Bunk, Bubbles, Frank Sobatka, and many, many others.  There are also occasional sections that feature topical discussions like “Women in The Wire.”  The book also contains countless photos (both color and black-and-white) that cover some of the more memorable scenes of the series.

There’s not much else to say about this book except that it is a must own for every fan of The Wire.  In fact, it will make a perfect teaching tool, both in the classroom and the congregation, for professors or ministers wanting to use the series to discuss anything from theology to social justice.  While it would be difficult, or nearly impossible, to watch every episode in such a setting, the summaries here are absolutely perfect replacements.  And as if any extra assistance were needed, the topical sections can also provide discussion starters, although I imagine most discussion groups or classrooms would need several weeks just to work through the socio-political aspects of Simon’s introduction.

Yesterday, a friend directed me to an article about a recent sermon by Mark Driscoll (pastor of Mars Hill Church) in which he called Avatar  “the most demonic, satanic film I’ve ever seen.”  Check out my response after the jump.

While Avatar isn’t the best film of the year, it certainly isn’t the worst, and it is by no means the most demonic, satanic film I’ve ever seen.  Of course, I’m not Mark Driscoll.  In a recent sermon, he commented:

The world tempts you to sin, to use people, to disobey God, to live for your own glory instead of his own, to be a consumer instead of generous, that’s the world system.

And if you don’t believe me, go see Avatar, the most demonic, satanic film I’ve ever seen. That any Christian could watch that without seeing the overt demonism is beyond me. I logged on to christianitytoday.com and the review was reflective of Christianity today, very disappointing. See, in that movie, it is a completely false ideology, it’s a sermon preached. It’s the most popular movie ever made, and it tells you that the creation mandate, the cultural mandate is bad, that we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t develop culture, that’s a bad thing.

Primitive is good and advanced is bad and that we’re not sinners, we’re just disconnected from the divine life force, just classic, classic, classic paganism, that human beings are to connect, literally, with trees and animals and beasts and birds and that there’s this spiritual connection that we’re all a part of, that we’re all a part of the divine.

It presents a false mediator with a witch. It presents false worship of created things rather than Creator God in absolute antithesis to Romans 1:25, which gives that as the essence of paganism. It has a false incarnation where a man comes in to be among a people group and to assume their identity. It’s a false Jesus. We have a false resurrection. We have a false savior. We have a false heaven. The whole thing is new age, satanic, demonic paganism, and people are just stunned by the visuals. Well, the visuals are amazing because Satan wants you to emotionally connect with a lie.

Two things are abundantly clear from this section of his sermon:  1) Driscoll is a pathetic pop-culture critic, and 2) he has clearly never seen The Exorcist.  Hello, Mark!  In case you missed it, a young girl masturbates with a crucifix in that film!! But no, that is apparently not as Satanic as the notion of the interconnectedness of all things or attacks on consumerism and exploitation.

According to Driscoll, this is less offensive than Avatar.

Driscoll and I will definitely agree on one thing, Avatar is not a great movie.  However, we come at it from drastically different view points.  You can see my review here.  But let’s get the film’s strongest asset out of the way.  It is one of the most visually stunning films I have ever seen and will most likely change the nature of science fiction films forever.  It’s 3D cinematography is absolutely engrossing, and when paired with a much better narrative will create a cinematic experience the likes of which we’ve yet to enjoy.  As far as its weakest asset:  it suffers from a weak story and a poor script.

Now to Driscoll’s failings.  First off, he clearly cannot read a room.  Avatar is, or at least is on its way to becoming, the highest grossing film of all time.  You know what this means?  People are flocking to it in droves.  It’s also won the Golden Globe for best picture and has been nominated for, and many critics think it will win, Best Picture in the upcoming Oscars as well.  You know what this means?  Many people like it.  Guess what?  Many of those people might be actively involved in his church, living healthy, fully committed Christian lives.  Not only has he demonized the film, he’s demonized hundreds (?) of his faithful followers in the process.  There is no desire for conversation with or respect for congregants here.  Instead of asking why people are flocking to the film or what about it resonates with them, Driscoll leads with blanket condemnation which will most likely shut off any avenues for fruitful conversation.

Second, the film is a thinly veiled attack on consumerism, greed, manifest destiny, and exploitation…all of which have unfortunately characterized not only the growth of this country but the spread of Christianity as well.  Instead of attacking these evils, Driscoll, in a roundabout way, attacks the attack.  This should not be surprising given that his church and culturally ambiguous evangelicalism simultaneously embraces and rejects a rampant consumerism from which they greatly benefit.  It is this type of consumerism, not Avatar’s attack on it, that leads evangelicals like Tony Campolo to bemoan the future of Christianity in America (see his comments in the documentary Lord Save Us From Your Followers).  To the extent that real-world modernity mirrors Avatar’s depiction of it, then it is evil, plain and simple.

Third, the film is in no way meant to be a literal depiction of heaven, salvation, Jesus, or resurrection!  It is a science fiction film about a planet called Pandora and an energy-rich ore called unobtanium.  Jake is not Jesus (a more fitting Biblical comparison would be Jacob), but Jake does present a model of what standing in solidarity with the vulnerable and oppressed could look like.  That this notion is present in a mainstream film with such wide appeal should provide ministers with a perfect lesson to share with their congregants.  Unfortunately, Driscoll just doesn’t get it.

Fourth, Driscoll’s “theological” critique of the film is simply misguided at best.  You get the sense that he hasn’t fully thought this out or, worse, that he doesn’t believe it himself.  It sounds like he’s stammering here:  “It’s the most popular movie ever made, and it tells you that the creation mandate, the cultural mandate is bad, that we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t develop culture, that’s a bad thing.  Primitive is good and advanced is bad and that we’re not sinners, we’re just disconnected from the divine life force, just classic, classic, classic paganism, that human beings are to connect, literally, with trees and animals and beasts and birds and that there’s this spiritual connection that we’re all a part of, that we’re all a part of the divine.”  So which is it Mark?  The creation mandate or the cultural mandate?  These are two distinctly separate entities in the film.  It seems to me that Avatar promotes the notion of creation and damns a blindly destructive culture that would spread at the expense of that creation.  Moreover, the ways in which the Na’vi literally connect with their surroundings is fantasy.  I doubt Cameron and his crew are advocating bestiality, which is what Driscoll probably fears.  But the notion of the interconnectedness of the created order is something that we have lost in recent Christian history and is responsible, in large part, for the economic and environmental crises in which we now find ourselves so deeply mired.  If Driscoll is quick to throw out scripture to damn Avatar, I’ll turn to a couple of verses in its defense.

In Colossians 1:16-17, we find these radical verses, “For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”  This is a pretty fantastic notion of the created order being held together in Christ without any division.  Jesus himself seems to have a richer understanding of the created order and its potential as well.  In Luke 19:37-40, we find this account:  “When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen: ‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!’   Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, ‘Teacher, rebuke your disciples!’   ‘I tell you,’ he replied, ‘if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.’”  Where is this sensibility in Driscoll’s half-hearted condemnation of connectedness?

Finally, Driscoll’s recent comments on Avatar are simply untimely and, quite frankly, seem self serving.  He’s just now getting around to talking about a film with such cultural appeal almost two months after its release?  This represents just the type of religious cultural engagement that no longer has a place in contemporary public discourse…if it ever did.  This is yet another example of a public figure wanting to be heard rather than saying anything substantive or potentially transformative.  In the end, I guess he got what he wanted.

Here’s the link to the original article which contains video of the sermon:  http://blog.seattlepi.com/thebigblog/archives/195724.asp.

Martin Scorsese has provided us with some of the most memorable films, and moments, in the history of cinema, many of which demand multiple viewings.  While his latest film, Shutter Island, is not one of those historical classics, it is by no means a disappointment, thanks in large part to an engrossing story by Dennis Lehane.Shutter Island opens as Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), two federal marshals, travel to an island penitentiary for the criminally insane.  They are there to investigate the sudden disappearance of a female patient (accused of murdering her three children) who seems to have vanished from the heavily guarded and fortified prison block.  Teddy also has a personal interest in the place as he suspects Laeddis, the arsonist who set the fire that killed his wife a couple of years earlier, to be imprisoned on the island as well.  Teddy also carries with him tormenting memories of his experiences in World War II as he was one of many soldiers who helped liberate the concentration camps.  However, as the film progresses, we learn that the truth is much more complex, darker, and heart-breaking than we initially expected.  I’ll say no more about the plot because it would literally ruin the experience.

Teddy (Leonardo DiCaprio) mourns his lost wife Dolores (Michelle Williams).

Though there is an M. Night Shyamalan twist to the film’s ending, the film demands repeated viewings to appreciate the subtle twists, turns, and clues with which Scorsese seasons the film.  Shutter Island also benefits from strong performances from everyone involved.  One gets the sense that Scorsese watched a lot of David Lynch films or several episodes of Twin Peaks before filming.  Not since The Last Temptation of Christ has Scorsese been so visually bizarre.

Shutter Island reveals the depths to which guilt, despair, and regret will drive the human soul and mind if that person cannot face reality.  It also illustrates (more than subtly) the changing and competing practices that defined psychological care for the criminally insane (and might still do) through two doctors, Cawley (Ben Kingsley) and Naehring (Max von Sydow).  How do we treat, not necessarily the least of these (as Jesus commanded), but the most violent of these?  Are we prepared to see the criminally insane as the “least” that Jesus described, or are we too preoccupied with the notion of them being the “most” violent?

I can see how viewers would, in probably equal measure, love and hate Shutter Island.  I left the theater somewhat torn in my initial reaction, but I found myself, when recounting the film to my wife, realizing that I really did enjoy and appreciate the film and how much I’m looking forward to re-watching it on DVD.

Shutter Island (138 mins.) is rated R for disturbing violent content, language and, some nudity and is in theaters everywhere.

Our newest Pop Theology contributor, Jessica Margrave Schirm (read more about her on the Contributors page), reviews the recent novel, Bloodroot, after the jump.

To say that Amy Greene’s debut novel, Bloodroot, captivated me from the first word isn’t entirely accurate – truth is, it had me at the dust jacket. Although I was not raised in Appalachia, the majority of my extended family calls the Appalachian mountains home. I spent many a childhood summer chasing horses through the fields, picking blackberries in the hollers and splashing in the creeks as I visited family in Eastern Kentucky. As a result, I felt immediately at home on Bloodroot Mountain, as if Greene’s characters were my own kin, telling their unique stories of tragedy and miracle. Bloodroot Mountain, the setting for Greene’s tale, derives its name from the bloodroot plant, a potentially poisonous herbal remedy purported to cure a variety of illnesses from poison ivy, to croup, to cancer. The magical plant, named for its long, finger-like root that oozes blood-red sap when cut, foreshadows the novel’s complicated consideration of the human capacity to poison or to heal.

Bloodroot is the multi-generational account of a family’s search for meaning, freedom and connection. Greene’s tale centers upon Myra Lamb Odom a free-spirited, mystical girl with haint blue eyes who captures the hearts of all who know her. In addition to her own voice, Myra’s story is told by Byrdie Lamb – Myra’s grandmother who raises her after tragedy befalls each of Byrdie’s own five children; Dougie – Myra’s childhood confident who spends his life longing for Myra’s love; John Odom – Myra’s deceivingly beautiful husband who attempts to contain Myra’s spirit and nearly succeeds; and Johnny and Laura – Myra’s children who continually search for their mother, even when she is by their side. Using these voices, Greene demonstrates her command of the Appalachian dialect as she explores the juxtaposition of hope and pessimism in a way that is both haunting and beautiful. Her characters bring authentic perspective to the misguided Appalachian stereotypes that continue even now.

Several key themes guide Greene’s tale – the complicated love between mothers and their children, the tangled web of romantic affection both unrequited and undeserved, and the often blurry line between freedom and imprisonment. Although Bloodroot is not overtly theological, Greene incorporates several significant characteristics of Appalachian religiosity – fatalism, superstition and perseverance. The pace of Greene’s writing mirrors the Appalachian culture she explores. The story gently meanders drawing us deeper into the complex narrative. As readers we are invited to contemplate the characters – to mull their thoughts, to embody their emotions, to grieve their losses, to pray their prayers and to glimpse the ever elusive hope that compels them forward.

Although there are a host of positive things to say about Bloodroot, it is important to note that Greene leaves a significant amount of loose ends that I, ultimately, found frustrating. From unresolved bit characters, to several unfinished thematic threads, to a not quite believable tidy ending, Greene left me wanting more and not necessarily in a good way.

With all that said, Bloodroot is certainly worth the read. Greene’s story telling debut is a dark and complicated journey into the often unexplored corners of the Appalachian culture. Through Myra Lamb Odom, and those that love her, Greene demonstrates the complexity of human relationships, the interconnectedness of all living things, and the potential in all of us for the tragic as well as the miraculous.

In the latest version of “The Gospel According to ‘Insert-Pop-Culture-Creation-Here,’” Chris Seay turns his attention to Lost.  Unfortunately, the book isn’t nearly as compelling as the series itself.  Moreover, it left me questioning the supposed brilliance of the series itself.There’s not much theological depth to The Gospel According to Lost, which is even more unfortunate given Seay’s love for the series, which he does convey in his writing.  All we have here is a broad summary of each major character’s spirituality or the moral conflicts in which they find themselves engaged.  In the end, all Seay leads us to realize is that, like all of us, the “Losties” are broken individuals capable of good and evil but never beyond the reach of an ever-loving God.  The book feels quickly written…released to take advantage of the start of the sixth and final season.

When I first heard about this book, I feared that it might be a disappointment.  How can someone write about Lost, or its characters, with so much left hanging in the balance?  For all we know, Walt could be God and Locke could be a robot.  Well…maybe not, but we cannot ignore the fact that numerous unanswered questions remain that will directly impact our understanding of a great majority of the lead characters.  It seems to me that one can only write tentatively and play it safe when analyzing the series theologically.  Unfortunately, safe is not a fitting engagement with such a daring series.

This cast deserves better.

While Lost may be daring, after reading Seay’s summaries of the characters and some of the key episodes, I was left with a slightly diminshed opinion of the series.  Don’t get me wrong…it is entertaining.  However, it falls short of television greatness established by other recent series.  I’m thinking of the depth of character and moral complexity in The Wire or the endless theological and ethical debates that spun out of Battlestar Galactica.  Aside from a frequently-twisting, carrot-on-a-stick plot, what does Lost really say about the human experience, much less the divine, in the end?  Moreover, in reading Seay’s analysis of the series, I suddenly realized that Lost suffers from gender and racial complications that might work against any sort of “positive” theology that critics might draw from it.  Depending on one’s point of view, Seay’s chapter on Kate might be problematic as well…drooling over her appearance seems to be in poor taste in a book such as this.

In the end, The Gospel According to Lost might appeal to youth groups and younger Lost fans.  More mature readers, I imagine, won’t find much to take away here.

This afternoon, I connected with Craig Detweiler over Skype to talk about his latest book, Halos and Avatars:  Playing Video Games with God.  The book is a must read and this video is a must watch.  Check it out after the jump.  Also, I think I’ve talked him into attending Theology After Google, so if you can make it…go!

An Interview with Craig Detweiler, author of HALOS AND AVATARS from J. Ryan Parker on Vimeo.

Theology and popular culture is an ever-growing field with numerous implications for both the church and academia.  Churches and professors have embraced the theological/religious/spiritual implications of film, television, and popular culture.  However, one of the most popular components of popular culture, video games, have yet to come under exploration for their theological/religious/spiritual implications.  Until now.  In his latest book, Halos and Avatars:  Playing Video Games With God, Craig Detweiler has compiled a collection of essays that make it impossible to look at video games the same way again. 

In his introduction, Detweiler reveals the popularity of video games that transcends teenage male gamers.  He also pulls the curtain back on the myth that gaming is a loner activity, as increases in online communication and technology make video gaming a communal exercise par excellence.  Yet despite this popularity, we have no serious vide game critics…aside from popular reviewers for publications like Game Informer, Playstation Magazine, etc.  We do not see writers reflecting critically on what this popularity means for us socially, much less theologically.  This book explores the theological implications of both video game narratives and gameplay itself.  The authors refuse to simply praise or condemn video games, giving us much more insightful engagement with them in the process.

In Chapter 1, Chris Hansen questions whether or not video games are the future of storytelling and how this might influence film narrative.  He examines the influence of video games on the stories films tell and they ways in which they tell them.  However, I would question his critiques of Quentin Tarantino’s films, especially the Kill Bill series as simply modeled on video games.  Asian shock films might be a better resource from which to examine this topic.  Hansen points out that this is not a one way street and that video games are increasingly expressing cinematic aesthetics.  Moreover, multiple ways to solve a puzzle or win a game might bode well for the future of religious pluralism and ecumenism.

Long before there was Heavy Rain, there was Ultima IV, and in Chapter 2, Mark Hayse explores its ability to push the     moral envelope of video games.  Hayse adds of increasingly morally complex games:  “Grand Theft Auto offers a cautionary tale, a way not to be.  Although many video games today incorporate moral economies, their designers tend to make them more explicit than implicit” (38).  A strength of Ultima IV, Hayse argues, is its ability to keep these moral implications veiled.  In Chapter 3, Rachel Wagner reveals why so many Christians might have a problem with video games…they require something of an open-ended narrative, or at least require multiple paths to a pre-determined ending.  Wagner points to the literal interpretation of Scripture that many of video games’ harshest critics support.  Wagner writes, “Film, due to its own fixed trajectory, is thus more suitable to theological inevitability than games, since film more readily parallels the Christian view of time as shaped by God in a predetermined linear trajectory” (49).  Of course, there are numerous Christian views of time that are far from linear or predetermined.  In Chapter 4, Heidi Campbell explores the phenomenon of “Islamogaming,” whereby Muslims incorporate video games for religious education, “image-correction,” and political, social, or religious solidarity.

"Inspirited" play

In perhaps the most interesting chapter of the book, Kutter Callaway explores the theological implications of the Nintendo Wii.  After beginning with a history of gaming consoles, Callaway focuses on the Wii as symbolic of the Spirit’s movement (and desire to move) in the world.  Playing the Wii is an embodied and inspirited experience as it is, Callaway argues, somatic, holistic, and affective.  However, as with some other chapters, I wish Callaway would have taken a risk to further explain or imagine how “we might develop our theological understanding of these experiences as devotional practices” (88).  Chapter 6 contains an interesting conversation with Rand Miller (co-creator along with his brother of Myst) and Marty O’Donnell (music composer for Halo), two Christian game developers.  This interview is further proof of the possible unnecessary existence of an alternative Christian video game industry when committed Christians are doing such phenomenal work in the wider video game industry.

In Chapter 7, Matthew Kitchen challenges the very notion of sport itself by reflecting on the emerging field of competitive gaming as a potential sport itself.  In Chapter 8, Andrew McAlpine challenges the notion of video games as art by drawing a distinction, for one, between creating music and repeating it in games like Guitar Hero.  McAlpine writes, “[...The fact remains] that the experience of playing a game is entirely separate from the aesthetic experience of interacting with art” (129).  There are games that are increasingly more experiential in the sense that McAlpine might mean as opposed to the interactive experience of traditional games.  Such gaming evolutions will further challenge McAlpine’s arguments.

A "Bioshock" screen shot

In Chapter 9, Kevin Newgren examines BioShock as a locus for serious discussions of bioethics and utilitarianism, yet again revealing the success of a “secular” video game where specifically religious ones so often fail.  He also questions, along the way, the very ethics of religious video games that present a “cleaner” alternative:  “While Left Behind attempts to offer good morals, it ultimately demeans women no differently than games like Grand Theft Auto, which allow players to beat up prostitutes” (141).  In Chapter 10, Jason Shim discusses rituals in online communities like Second Life.  Are they as real as first life rituals?  In Chapter 11, Daniel White Hodge attempts to outline a theology for gamers through a series of interviews with and observations of self-professed gamers.  Hodge points to the experiences of the numinous, mystery, and fantasy that video games provide their most committed devotees.  In Chapter 12, John W. Morehead discusses “Cybersociality” and connects fun to the play of God, drawing on discussions of play, imagination, and creation.

A "Second Life" Wedding

In his conclusion, Detweiler looks to the religious future and video games’ implications for it.  These include both interfaith and “intrafaith” challenges.  Detweiler links gamers’ lack of concern for the game manual (preferring to pick up and play) to a changing approach to reading scripture:  “Instead of convincing kids to start their day with a devotion, perhaps we have to shift the emphasis to the end of the day–looking back” (191).  He also adds, “Questions of pluralism will only rise as the gamer generation comes of age” (194).  In the appendix, Kara Powell and Brad M. Griffin offer guidelines for productive conversations about video games for parents and teens.  As such, Halos and Avatars proves to be not only the first text to link theology and video games, but a must read for any teenager or adult, parent, minister, or scholar interested in not only video games but theology and popular culture as well.

As the days and weeks approach, we’ll start to hear more and more about the “best movie(s) of the year.”  To hear about one of these, and one of the year’s best performances, you’ll most likely have to tune into the Independent Spirit Awards.  Goodbye Solo, should have been nominated for Best Feature at the Independent Spirit Awards but seems to have been crowded out by more mainstream indies (Precious and (500) Days of Summer).  Thankfully, its lead actor, Souleymane sy Savane, is up for a much-deserved Best Actor award. 

Goodbye Solo tells the story of Solo (Souleymane sy Savane), a Senegalese immigrant cab driver in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, who befriends an elderly white male passenger, William (Red West).  He quickly surmises, after William presents him with a financial deal that seems too good to be true (drive him to Blowing Rock without a return trip for $1,000), that William means to commit suicide.  He has already set about closing out all his affairs.  However, Solo will not have it and tries his hardest in the time remaining to befriend William and show him new reasons to go on living despite the lack of family and friends that seem to plague him.

William (Red West) and Solo (Souleymane sy Savane)

Like few other characters in film…ever…Solo embodies Francis Thompson’s notion of God’s grace in his poem “The Hound of Heaven.”  By that, Thompson meant that God refuses to give up on humanity, eternally pursuing, in love, anyone who flees God.  Solo, too, refuses to give up and stop living William, no matter how hateful he becomes.  Not once does Solo resort to any particular theology or divine plea for why William should go on living, trusting instead in their potential relationship.  This brings to mind a recent quote I read in a book (about video games and religion of all things) which said that, “After a while, the doctrine started to sound like noise and the relationships sounded like music.”  This is epitomized in the character of Solo whose joyous, infectious grasp on life and genuine desire for relationship is music for the soul indeed.  Secondly, as Solo studies to become a flight attendant, he reads in his textbook in the section of what to do in the case of a medical emergency, that a flight attendant’s job is not to diagnose illness but to preserve life.  The parallels with his relationship with William are clear.  Not once does Solo try to “diagnose” William’s condition, although he does pry once without William’s knowledge, but commits himself to honoring and preserving the life that remains for him.

The film’s conclusion, which I will not disclose here, embraces a level of complexity rare in more mainstream films.  It might even challenge all the praise that I have heaped on Solo thus far, or it might further confirm it.  It is certainly open for discussion.  The film benefits from marvelous acting, both sy Savane and West are on level footing here and prove, if a seemingly unlikely pair at first, a perfect match.  Rahim Bahrani’s direction is nearly flawless, and Winston-Salem makes an unassuming…or should I say unobtrusive…background for an engrossing story.  As I look back over films released this last year, I can recommend few as enthusiastically as Goodbye Solo.

Goodbye Solo (91 mins) is rated R for language (although I found nothing “R-ish” about it) and is available on DVD and streaming on Netflix.

After watching Creation, the film supposedly about Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, one is left wondering what all the American fuss was all about over the film and why it had such trouble securing an American distributor.  As one viewer who was looking forward to seeing this film, I almost with it hadn’t.Creation tells the story…or a very limited part of it…of Darwin’s (Paul Bettany) writing of On the Origin of Species.  Filmmaker Jon Amiel and screenwriter John Collee take his popularity and controversy among some religious figures for granted and set up an early, clear division between Darwin and the church before ever really explaining…or allowing Darwin to explain…what he was all about.  Throughout the film, Darwin is haunted by two things, his emerging text and his deceased daughter, that wreak emotional, mental, and physical havoc on him.  Unfortunately, visions of and conversations with his deceased daughter predominate, and the film focuses far too much on his grief and alienation from the rest of his family instead of the creation of his groundbreaking work and the discussions and arguments that no doubt flooded its creation and immediate release.  Of course, a film of that nature might appeal to a much smaller audience, but the track that Amiel and Collee finally take should be disappointingly boring to the larger audience to which he hoped to appeal.

Paul Bettany as Charles Darwin in "Creation"

Creation has Darwin say a couple of throw-away lines about the ability to retain faith in a higher power while engaging in the practice of science (“There’s still mystery in this…”), but they are far too vacuous in the scheme of things, especially when the only explicitly religious characters vehemently oppose the author and his work or reject their faith in support of it, as the film suggests Darwin’s wife, Emma (Jennifer Connelly), does at the end.  Yet another seemingly throw-away line might be an entry point for discussion when Darwin sets out to begin his work.  He comments, “I shall leave God out of it….”  In what ways could we take this line?  Does leaving God out of a scientific work imply that one has to deny the very existence of that higher power?  Another plus for the film is the inclusion (even though it is far too lengthy) of his dying and dead daughter and the, what now seem to us primitive, means by which doctors try to cure her.  One could interpret the distance from those scientific attempts to the advanced technology and cures at our disposal today as signs of evolution.  In what other ways could we “theologically” embrace notions of evolution?

Unfortunately, I doubt we’ll see another Darwin film for a very, very long time.  Hopefully, any remake will be an evolutionary leap from this one.

Creation (108 mins) is rated PG-13 for thematic material and is in limited release.