The Lord of the Rings-The Steward and the King

Inspired by this post (and ready to take a break from my thesis), my wife and I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy again this weekend and I was once more impressed by Peter Jackson’s films. He didn’t get everything right (it kills me that he left out the scouring of the Shire, though Return of the King was certainly long enough without it!), but he really captured the beauty and grandeur of Tolkien’s epic.

Still, one aspect of the storyline especially really doesn't get the full treatment Tolkien intended. Flipping back through the books again, I can’t shake the brilliance of Tolkien's presentation of Aragorn's rise to kingship. Unlike Narnia, The Lord of the Rings is no allegory (Gandalf, Frodo—even Boromir in his own way—are each as much Christ figures as Aragorn is), but Tolkien’s depiction of Aragorn’s rise to kingship gives a masterful retelling of the incarnation, and actually fits with my reading of John even better than I had recalled.

In Tolkien’s vision, the Stewards are charged with the governance of the kingdom until the true king might reclaim his throne. Thus their duty, from the beginning, was intended to be temporary and provisional. But as the return of the king was long delayed, this perception changed. Arnor, the northern half of the kingdom, from which Aragorn derives, has long lost its grandeur and been reduced to humility. The Dúnedain (Elvish for “Men of the West”) are indeed the descendents of the kings from across the sea, but now most only know them as “rangers,” and see them as little more than vagrants. Few know of their long efforts to protect the free peoples of the North, and fewer still looked to their numbers for the return of the king.

Thus when the hobbits first meet Aragorn they have no idea of his true identity. He calls himself “Strider” and willingly risks his life to save them from the Nazgûl, without ever demanding their allegiance or even hinting at his lineage. But Tolkien himself hints at it. In fact, the quote on my sidebar is actually from Bilbo’s description of Aragorn, first seen in a letter Gandalf left for the hobbits:

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

So it is throughout the trilogy, as Aragorn repeatedly puts aside his kingly rights to serve others. He is humble and weather-worn, hardly the picture of a king and lord of old. Thus when he does finally turn towards Minus Tirith, the very "city of the king," we find that not all welcome, or even recognize, his coming. For the Stewards of Gondor (the southern half of the kingdom) are failing in their charge. Denethor has long overreached his authority as Steward, insisting: "the rule of Gondor… is mine and no other man’s, unless the king should come again." Yet when the armies of Mordor close in and Denethor’s only remaining son and heir, Faramir, lays poisoned and dying, Denethor chooses rather to burn on a pyre with his son than take up his duty as Steward:

"I say to thee, Gandalf Mithrandir, I will not be thy tool! I am Steward of the House of Anárion. I will not step down to be the dotard chamberlain of an upstart. Even were his claim proved to me, still he comes but of the line of Isildur. I will not bow to such a one, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship and dignity."

"What then would you have," said Gandalf, "if your will could have its way?"

"I would have things as they were in all the days of my life," answered Denethor, "and in the days of my long-fathers before me: to be the Lord of this city in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated."

"To me it would not seem that a Steward who faithfully surrenders his charge is diminished in love or in honour," said Gandalf. "And at the least, you shall not rob your son of his choice while his death is still in doubt.”

In the end, however, Denethor takes his own life, a traitor and an upstart, but his abuse of the Stewardship is by no means Tolkien’s last word on the matter. For after defeating the army that Denethor so feared, Aragorn does enter Minus Tirith, not (at first) as its king, but in secret. Thus he goes to the houses of healing and takes up the care of Faramir himself (along with that of Éowyn and Merry, stricken after killing the king of the Nazgûl). And when Faramir is healed by his king, he does take his father’s place as Steward, and at the climax of The Return of the King (a role sadly cut from the film) it is Faramir who oversees Aragorn’s coronation. In a chapter titled “The Steward and the King,” Faramir meets Aragorn at the gate of Minus Tirith, kneels before him and says:

"The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." And he held out a white rod; but Aragorn took the rod and gave it back, saying: "That office is not ended, and it shall be thine and thy heirs’ as long as my line shall last. Do now thy office!"

Then Faramir stood up and spoke in a clear voice: "Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship at last. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword Reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing, the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur’s son, Elendil’s son of Númenor. Shall he be king and enter into the City and dwell there?"

And all the host and all the people cried yea with one voice.

Faramir remained Steward even after the return of his king, and as such, he became the primary witness to Aragorn's true identity. Yet far from a reduction in his role, Faramir was given yet greater honor, and made Prince of Ithilien (the land on the other side of the river, where he first met Frodo and Sam and “proved his quality” by overcoming the temptation of the Ring), and so he lived there with Lady Éowyn, always within sight of the city he loved and the king who had healed them.

And this, I think, is how John also understood the institutions of Judaism. His well-known vitriol against the leaders of “the Jews,” is not to be understood as a rejection of Judaism at all. It is rather to be explained by his deep sense of betrayal. As John understands them, Moses and his Torah, the Temple and its festivals and priesthood, these were all meant to be “witnesses” to Jesus, "stewards" if you will, who prepared the way for Israel’s true king. But Like Denethor, many of who currently held Jewish leadership rejected Jesus and so, from John’s perspective, failed their charge. Nevertheless, their status as witnesses was not undone either by Jesus’ coming or by their faithlessness. Indeed, John insists that even when the high priest himself conspires to kill Jesus, he cannot help but fulfill his duty as witness:

Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, "You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish."

He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one. (11:49-52)

And so when we get to the crucifixion narrative, John (even more than the other Gospel writers), emphasizes that Jesus died as King of the Jews (19:18-22). In a Gospel that uses that phrase fully 25 times, mostly to refer to the Jewish institutions whose significance John has repeatedly claimed point to Jesus, the expression could not help but carry deep significance: In taking his rightful kingship, Jesus fulfills the "witness" of these figures and institutions, whose “stewardship” had prepared for his coming. Yet “stewards” they remain (like all the rest of us), and in that role they are not “replaced” by the king but “re-placed”--given a new and fuller role. The return of Israel's king is thus not the end of her stewardship but its culmination.

Evan Almighty

I saw Evan Almighty again tonight and and enjoyed it quite a bit more than the first time. I tend to dislike movies where, if they were remotely realistic, everything would end badly, and you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. So here we have a newly elected U.S. Congressman going to seed, followed around by wild animals, and shouting about a flood and how God told him to build an ark. There's simply no way this is going to end well, or maintain any believability if it does. Nor does the film itself provide a convincing resolution to the mess--I'm pretty sure that even if everything could happen as it did in the movie, the authorities would be more likely to believe Evan sabotaged the dam than that God actually warned him of the danger. And I'm certain that any flood that could carry a boat right up to the Capitol Building would destroy most of Washington D.C. in the process.

But whatever. This time I knew what to expect and so wasn't as distracted by the absurdities and just enjoyed it as a humorous parable about a man far too concerned with outward appearances with whom God has some fun, and uses to do some good. And as a parable, it works pretty well (for instance, see Carmen's excellent observations here). What I especially like about it, however, is its exploration of how God answers prayer. On one side, of course, the movie is full of instances of direct, miraculous, acts of God, but on the other hand, it suggests that God's usual practice is much more subtle and personal:

Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for their family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

Ultimately, and as I've said before, God is less interested in fixing our circumstances than he is in fixing us--making us into the kind of people who live for and love one another, regardless of our circumstances. Yet it is still we who must choose how to live in each circumstance. Though God wants to transform us, to cleanse us of our self-focus and make us into the people we are meant to be, he can only do so through our choices.Whatever its failings, Evan Almighty explores that tension very well, and has a lot of fun doing it.

My Atonement Review at Looking Closer

Jeffrey Overstreet very kindly choose my review of Atonement as first runner-up in his Looking Closer review contest. The winner was an excellent review of WALL*E by Philip Johnston.

Thanks Jeffrey; I'm honored!

Self-Interest and Sacrifice in The Dark Knight

Relentless. From the opening bank heist on, The Dark Knight never lets up. There is no climax to this film, just a series of emotional peaks, each more terrifying than the previous. With hardly a moment’s pause—even the Joker gives little comic relief, though Morgan Freeman drops a couple zingers—the flawless action builds uncontrollably to a breathless conclusion as Gotham falls to the brink of confusion and terror. This reboot makes Tim Burton’s Batman seem like a light-hearted farce.

It’s being said that The Dark Knight is as much a crime drama as a superhero movie—and it is—but it’s also a terrifying psychological thriller, reveling in misdirection and reversal. At the heart of all its turmoil, of course, stands Heath Ledger’s Joker, compared to whom all previous supervillains look like sissies. Easily stealing the show from Christian Bale’s Batman, his truly wicked sense of humor and casual disregard for human life makes you believe that absolutely any horrific conclusion is possible.

Jeffrey Overstreet calls him “one of the greatest portrayals of the devil I’ve ever seen” and I must agree. But if Satan is said to be disguised as an angel of light, this greasy clown is what he must look like underneath: appallingly ugly, brilliantly misguided, unpredictably deceitful, delighting not only in chaos but corruption. The Joker doesn’t just want to destroy goodness; he wants to make it impossible. In forcing one terrible choice after another, he dares you to choose evil even while you try to prevent it. He creates fear not just to terrify, but to dehumanize, to make the most horrific sacrifice seem defensible, even necessary. He has no plan, he tells us, but he clearly has a goal—to win “Gotham’s soul,” to ensure that no one is left innocent. And he nearly succeeds.

But he doesn’t succeed, and that is why the film does. Set over against this horrible evil are three men in particular. New District Attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) is tough on crime and puts a wholesome face on justice. Lieutenant James Gordon (Gary Oldman at his best) is a tested cop and a family man. And, of course, Bruce Wayne and his Batman are a mystery, simultaneously a playboy and a vigilante to the world, but few know his true identity; in fact, it’s questionable whether even he does. Together these three attempt to restore order to Gotham, and their triumphs and failures form the real heart of the film and keep it from collapsing into nihilism.

Through them, The Dark Knight takes pains to emphasize that even “the best of us” can fall, but it also recognizes the grandeur and complexity of human nature. At one point it is suggested that Harvey Dent is the hero the city wants, a “white knight” they can believe in, while Batman must be more than a hero, a “dark knight” who can make the hard choices that no one else can. What precisely this “more” means is never quite spelled out, but in contrasting these two kinds of heroes (and both Dent and Wayne waver between them), the film seems to be suggesting two very different possibilities. One alternative retains the appearance of selflessness but hides a spreading moral ambiguity leading to the rejection of order for chance and self-interest, as the sacrifices of others are accepted as necessary to defeat evil. Such compromises, made by several characters at various points in film, could suggest that true evil, unmasked and unhinged, cannot be defeated without taint, even if one may appear the selfless hero on the surface.

But the film offers another alternative, a self-sacrifice which embraces the appearance of evil rather than its substance. To face the consequences of the sins of others is seen to be the only true answer to overwhelming evil. In short, if the Joker’s goal is to create a dilemma where the most attractive option is to “do evil that good may result,” several characters reject the appeal of self-interest and choose good even if evil may result. Too much is lost for any tidy dénouement, but in its melancholy conclusion, The Dark Knight suggests that to truly be “more than a hero,” one must be strong enough to take that fall and survive it, to courageously choose the right and noble even at great risk, to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others. This is the only ray of hope in the darkness of unrestrained evil.

The Dark Knight is rated PG-13, but it pushes the limit of the rating with intense and gruesome (though bloodless) violence. Do not make the mistake of the several people at our showing who (inexplicably) brought young children—every one of them left part way through with a crying and terrified child.

Part Two of Dr. Horrible

The second part of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is now available, and it's hilarious! Plus, the free website actually works now (so go here for the first part if you missed it). This segment does include a bit of over-the-top sexual innuendo near the end, but it's important to the plot, not merely gratuitous.

Am I the only one who likes Neil Patrick Harris' "villain" a whole lot better than Nathan Fillion's "hero"? I didn't expect that. I'm very curious how this is gonna play out in the final segment!

Get Smart Review

So my wife and I saw Get Smart tonight. All around it's more mindless than Smart, but a lot of fun. It does include a fair bit of sexual humor, some skimpy outfits (including a shot of Steve Carell's bare butt), and lots of bloodless violence, but otherwise it's a relatively clean PG-13. There's plenty of action and a good dose of the quirky humor that I loved in the TV show (always a favorite when I used to watch Nick at Night), including a few truly hilarious moments. Steve Carell does a great job in the role of Maxwell Smart, and Anne Hathaway (apart from some excessive eye make-up) balances him well; even Dwane "The Rock" Johnson seems to be enjoying himself.

But my favorite line comes from the terrorists. About half way through, the baddies at KAOS are discussing their plans to nuke Los Angeles and the underling (Shtarker; played by Ken Davitian) says to his superior (Conrad Siegfried; played by Terence Stamp): "Seems a shame to kill all those Hollywood celebrities." Siegfried replies with perfect sarcasm: "Yes, how will we survive without their razor-sharp political commentary?"

At other times, the film seems to forget it's supposed to be a spoof at all and becomes a decent action movie, but just when you start taking it seriously they throw all believability out the window (literally, in several cases). All in all, despite Rottentomatoes only having it at 51%, Robert Ebert gets it right:

It’s funny, exciting, preposterous, great to look at, and made with the same level of technical expertise we’d expect from a new Bond movie.

Good popcorn flick.

[Updated 6:oo am]

[Update 2] Upon further reflection, the plot makes even less sense than I had realized (for instance, dozens of nukes are mentioned, but only one is ever accounted for. The rest are not left as a teaser for a sequal; they are simply forgotten by the end). Ah well, I still enjoyed it.

Todd Hertz at Christianity Today, on the other hand, didn't enjoy it quite as much, but he did point out a good theme that I overlooked:

One interesting thread to the plot is Smart's care for individuals—even if they're employed by KAOS. Often, Smart discusses how our enemies are humans, too. "They do bad things, but that's only what they do—not always who they are," he says. That theme comes to a head in the film's middle when Smart shows that compassion for an individual can truly be mightier than violence.

In fact, the scene to which he refers is a rare treat for an action movie: an attempt to actually love your enemies, to convert or save a villain rather than just to thoughtlessly destroying them. It's played for comic effect, but it ends up being rather central to the film's resolution. Maybe Get Smart isn't so mindless after all....

Art, Nudity and Sex and the City

As you may be aware, the new Sex and the City movie has caused quite a stir in some Christian circles, for its graphic sexuality and nudity. Though the movie was mostly panned by the critics (Rotten Tomatoes has it at 52% - rotten), it was popular at the box office and at least a few Christians have written positive reviews (for instance, Barbara Nicolosi, whom I respect). When Christianity Today (CT) published its own quite positive review, however, it sparked so much controversy that they felt obliged to post a response defending their right to review morally objectionable films. Ted Slater then wrote a scathing Open Letter at Boundless Line (an arm of Focus on the Family), denouncing them for “promoting” such a film and calling them to repent:

Your review grudgingly admitted that "there is a lot of sex and nudity in the movie." Your disclaimer went on to say that this movie isn't for "some adults." By "some adults," do you mean those who take the call of Christ seriously, to flee sexual immorality and pursue a life of righteousness? And that other, less conscientious adults should disregard the pursuit of holiness and "enjoy" (to use a term from the original review) this portrayal of illicit vulgarity?

The post drew 150 comments and a number of blog reactions, ranging from enthusiastic congratulations to impassioned objections (for example, see these discussions at Christ and Pop Culture). The key issues at stake seem to be: 1. Is it OK for (some) Christians to watch sexually explicit films, and 2. If (some or all) Christians should not watch such things, do Christian publications have a responsibility not to “promote” them through positive reviews?

Now I have not seen Sex and the City, I have no desire nor plan to do so, and I’m not even that concerned to defend or condemn Christianity Today (I think their review was questionable, but Slater’s response was over-the-top). But these two questions are broadly applicable and have left me rethinking my own approach to film. The truth is, my own views have become much more permissive over the years. When I was single, I firmly believed that any nudity in film (and most sexuality) was sinful and not something I should see. I don’t think I was wrong, either; as a single guy that was a temptation I was not equipped to handle well. When other Christians tried to distinguish between “tasteful” nudity and mere pornography, I understood the artistic difference (sort of), but could not see the moral distinction. As far as I was concerned, any movie that included such a thing, no matter how good otherwise, was off-limits.

But since I’ve been married (five and a half years now), my views have softened and I find myself watching films with stronger sexual themes without qualm. Whether because I'm more mature, or just desensitized, I know that these films do not affect me in the same way that they once did. For instance, if I had watched Knocked Up as a teenager… well, let’s just say it would not have been good for me; but at this stage in my life its excessive sexuality left me more disgusted than harmed. It was gratuitous and immoral, but it’s a simple fact that such images don’t stick with me the way they did as a teenager.

More generally, I no longer think that the amount of nudity (or other immorality) is as important as the context in which it is shown. If deliberately sexualized, even implied nudity can be much more harmful than explicit (but non-sexual) nudity. An obvious example of the latter would be the nudity in Schindler’s List, which is very graphic, but not at all sexual nor gratuitous. In contrast, these days it seems like almost every soap commercial is filled with highly sexualized images of women showering. Though they never include full nudity, these ads present a sexuality with no connection to any relationship. Added simply to get a reaction out of the audience, it doesn’t much matter that the sexual organs are just off-camera, this is essentially pornographic.

Alternatively, if a film shows two people fall in love and then implies that they had sex (perhaps even showing some skin), that may often be immoral, but it’s not necessarily as harmful to me as a viewer – it largely depends on the moral tone of the story. Is it presented as a legitimate expression of sexuality or a mistake? Are the real consequences of sex recognized or ignored? Does the film have an overarching moral tone, or is it simply trying to titillate the viewer? Unfortunately, the vast majority of the sexuality in modern film falls into the latter category, but this is not always so, and when it is an important part of a redemptive story, even full nudity can be less harmful than using sensual images simply to induce a sexual reaction in the viewer.

But however that may be, such distinctions require a level of maturity that is not automatic. It’s not just that I didn’t recognize them when I was younger, but that I couldn’t. At that stage of my life, almost any nudity was liable to affect me as strongly sexual, and I have to realize that this is still true of many other (younger) Christians, some of whom may perhaps read this blog. I’m starting to recognize that if I’m going to discuss films or TV shows with sexual elements, I need to be more aware of this potential and do a better job than I have of warning about such aspects of anything I recommend or discuss.

Moreover, even such considerations do not excuse all my viewing of sexually explicit material. However I may have matured, I’m still a human male who (whether I see it or not) is liable to be influenced by the presentation of sex I see in the media. And just because I now believe that some nudity can be legitimate and, occasionally, even necessary, that doesn’t change the fact that most of what Hollywood produces does not fit that category. Even if I am better at recognizing and critiquing such distortions than I once was, that doesn’t mean it’s good for me to see such things. As St. Paul said, just because it’s permissible doesn’t mean it’s beneficial (1 Cor. 6:12-20).

As I’ve shifted from judging film by the amount of immorality it portrays, to judging by the overarching worldview it embodies, I may have become a more mature critic, but in the process have I rationalized my own exposure to immorality? Where once I would have rejected a movie with brief nudity or even just too much swearing -- even if the story as a whole was redemptive -- today I’m more likely to do the opposite, forgiving almost any fault if the eventual goal is positive or thought-provoking. Granted, the world can be a messy and immoral place, and it is legitimate for film to acknowledge that, but have I drawn the line too far? If a film does include gratuitous nudity and excessive sexuality, can I justify dismissing that just because the story symbolizes some spiritual truth that, frankly, I could just as easily learn elsewhere? I’m not so sure anymore. “Mature” or not, perhaps I’m more a child of my culture than I’d like to believe.

Prince Caspian Review

I have something of a strange relationship with books and film. I’ve been an avid reader for as long as I can remember, but I’m simultaneously a product of our visual culture. This means that whenever I read a good novel, I find myself wishing I could see it on screen, yet whenever I see a film based on a book I’ve read, I’m almost always disappointed at what it leaves out. The first PG-13 movie I ever saw was Jurassic Park; I was 11 but my dad took me to see it as a reward for just having finished reading the book (I did say I was an avid reader, right?). I hated it. All I could think about was how they had butchered the characters and left so much out. It wasn’t until I saw the movie again years later, when the book had become a distant memory, that I could really enjoy it as a movie, rather than see it as a poor representation of the book.

So when my wife and I had the opportunity to see The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian last night, I chose not to reread the book first. In fact, it’s been a few years since I’ve done so, and I’m glad of that, because it allowed me to enjoy the film on its own merits before worrying about how it compared to its source. By most measures, this second Narnia far surpasses the first. I’d even go so far as to say that it was nearly as entertaining, though not quite as grand, as any of the Lord of the Rings films. But as I’ve thought about it further, it’s hard to ignore all the changes it made to Lewis’ book. That being the case, if you're anything like me, you may want to see the movie itself before reading on, especially if you hate spoilers (I should also note that I have no idea how this movie got a PG rating. It is quite violent, including an improbable degree of bloodless death and even a decapitation; it should definitely have been rated PG-13).

Prince Caspian follows the four Pevensie children’s return to Narnia, called back when Prince Caspian (the rightful heir to the throne, but currently hiding from his murderous uncle Miraz) blows the magical horn that was given to Susan in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. As they attempt to win back Caspian’s throne and free Narnia from Miraz’ oppression, we are treated to a film which is at once better acted, more humorous, and much more exciting than its predecessor. This is because, while the first Narnia was careful to keep the themes and plot of C.S. Lewis’ book intact, this film almost completely abandons the attempt.

On the positive side, this meant the addition or modification of several scenes which, I thought, greatly enhanced the plot. For instance, I appreciated the way they modified the first act of the story: The intentionally ambiguous significance of the birth with which the film begins was clever and revealed the threat to Caspian’s life in a concise and interesting manner. Then, when they parallel the Pevensies trying to adjust to life as children again (a nice addition, in my opinion), with Caspian’s flight from Miraz, I found it a much more engaging introduction than the way Lewis described this sequence of events. More substantially, they add an entire battle in which the Narnians attempt to capture Miraz’s castle, which not only adds interest, excitement and some important emotional depth, but also makes better sense of the events which follow than the original book did. I also liked the expanded scene involving the White Witch, which I was shocked to see in the previews, but think worked very well.

If most of the additions are good, however, there are also a number of unfortunate omissions. Much has been made of the fact that Lewis’ book centered on the triumph of faith over skepticism, while the film totally obliterates this theme. The story takes place 1300 years after the events of the first film (though only one year later for the four children); the great castle they once ruled lies in ruins and Aslan seems long absent. The film almost completely leaves out the fact that few Narnians still believe in Aslan or the old stories. In the book, this is seen especially in the dwarf Trumpkin, who is a convinced skeptic who only slowly comes to recognize Aslan’s reality and authority. In the film, this arc is substantially diminished, as Trumpkin (who is played with a lot of humor) never really disbelieves that the old stories are true; he only doubts their present value.

But, personally, I’m not as troubled by this as others have been, as I think real faith has a lot more to do with trust than with belief anyway. Thus Trumpkin’s (and others, including Peter’s and Caspian’s) lack of trust in Aslan is actually a more realistic, and troubling, form of doubt than his simple disbelief in the book. If the movie gives less ground than Lewis’ original for letting us cheer the comeuppance of the disbelieving materialists, it provides a more nuanced exploration of the danger of lack of trust - in each other and in Aslan - among the “faithful.” To me, this seems of greater value in our postmodern context than the attack on modernism that Lewis intended.

A much less fortanate change was the diminished portrait of genuine faith. The strange thing is that this actually made for a worse movie, not only thematically, but also narratively. In the book, we have an extended sequence in which Lucy alone is able to see Aslan while the others only slowly and painfully come to trust that she knows what she’s doing in following his lead. Though this element is not completely omitted, it is passed over very quickly in the film, which then leaves out entirely the fact that Aslan also appeared to the rest of them - one by one, as they come to trust him - during the course of the story.

In place of this, we get a nice exchange between Susan and Peter where it is asked why Aslan hasn’t proven himself to them, and suggested that perhaps they are the ones who need to prove themselves to him. This does add emphasis to the need to trust even when Aslan seems absent (that is, when God seems absent, though the film subtly diminishes Aslan’s divinity). But in doing so it modifies Lewis’ point that faith precedes sight, and leaves a substantial plot hole which is never adequately filled. Despite what the review I quoted in my last post claimed, the fact that Aslan doesn’t really appear until the end (except in a dream to Lucy) does make him more like a dues ex machina than he should have been.

In the book, Aslan’s appearance in the last battle is but the culmination of a series of previous ones, so it not only brings closure to all conflict but also enables the realization that he had actually been with them all along. In the movie, however, his sudden arrival feels forced and out of place. Though Lucy facing an army with naught but a dagger and a lion is cute, the audience hasn’t been adequately prepared for the significance of this event. And if this is true of Aslan, it is even more so of the tree spirits and (especially) the water god which he brings with him to fight for the Narnians. To suddenly see a great river god attack Miraz’ army, when (unlike in the book) we’ve never even been given a hint that such a being exists, is as clear a case of dues ex machina as you’re likely to find. The result is an otherwise entertaining film which suddenly falls flat at its climax.

Good Stuff From Here and There

I don’t often do summary posts, but I keep running into great stuff today and I want to hurry up and go watch LOST:

First, check out Barbara Nicolosi’s excellent interview with Salvo editor Bobby Maddex (excerpts of which will be in Salvo 5).

Next, and speaking of Barbara, she links a great review of Prince Caspian which comes out tomorrow and sounds to be better than the original:

The Christian theme is not only stronger in Caspian than in Wardrobe, but integrated more naturally into the story — slowly building with events until it perfectly climaxes at the end for maximum emotional effect. This is not some new-age Christian allegory where if you fall to your knees in some sun-dappled field and raise your hands to Jesus all your problems will go away. As in life, God is not a deus ex machina. There’s a bigger picture at work — a master plan — and it’s up to us to find our place within that plan, not the other way around. What Would Aslan Do? No. What Would Aslan Want Us To Do.

On the other hand, others are concerned that the film takes too many liberties and misses much of Lewis’ point (HT: Christ and Pop Culture).

Stuff Christians Like has an insightful post on measuring the true value of one’s time.

Finally, I caught Hellboy on cable again a couple nights ago (I love that movie, and the sequel looks promising too). I was especially struck by the closing voice-over, which sums up the plot (and my worldview) very well:

What makes a man a man? A friend of mine once wondered. Is it his origins, the way he comes to life? I don’t think so. It’s the choices he makes. Not how he starts things, but how he decides to end them.

For the Love of Chick Flicks

I have a confession to make: I love romantic comedies. I’d never admit that in person, but don’t be fooled; it's true. I’ve been married for five years, and any time my wife wants to watch one of them I moan and roll my eyes and only grudgingly give in, but I almost always enjoy them. She sees right through me, of course, but thankfully she’s nice enough not to rub it in – well, most of the time anyway – and lets me make up for it by renting science fiction movies she truly dislikes, so I guess I’ve got the better end of that deal.

What do I like about “chick flicks,” you ask (apart from the attractive women, eh hem). Surely, you’ll say, it’s not the plot; most of them follow the same predictable story-line: Guy and girl are each seeing (or at least dreaming of) other people, they meet but one or both dislikes the other until something happens and they fall for each other, but then one does something stupid and almost blows the whole thing, before finally they realize they love each other anyway - wedding bells, happily every after, and oh look, six of the supporting characters hooked up too! Nor, I'm sure, could it be the moral tone of these films. After all, nine times out of ten the proof that this is “true love” involves passionate sex. Right, since we really need to be told again that love = sex....

In fact, I should note that I don’t love all romantic comedies. I hate the ones where the big conflict involves one of them being caught cheating, or still married, or secretly transgendered (ok, I made that last one up, but I wouldn’t put it past them). Such things are fine when it’s the sleazebag she’s leaving for Mr. Right, but not when we’re expected to accept this about the protagonists themselves. It makes my skin crawl when the main character is the one who is lying all along, and you spend the whole movie waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When such things are avoided, however, all good romantic comedies get several things right. First, and most obviously, they all center on love, which may seem cheesy, but it's a lot less so than the special effects in half the sci-fi films I enjoy. Sure they’re often shallow and clichéd, but these stories always center on people who go out of their way to make each other feel special and loved, and I for one can never be reminded of that too often.

Second, and more significantly, all good romances force the main characters either to forgive or to give something up for their true love. This act of self-sacrifice almost always constitutes the climax of the film, and takes countless forms – from Wesley facing torture and “almost” death for Buttercup in The Princess Bride to Jane forgiving Kevin in 27 Dresses (which I “reluctantly” rented for Mother’s Day). No matter how often these films try to reduce love to an emotion, in the end they almost always affirm that true love requires sacrifice, forgiveness and the commitment to take each other back even when we fail.

Finally, I love these movies because they’re always hopeful and life affirming. Of course, a “feel-good” ending is simply required of the genre, but I’m not just talking about the happily ever after, roll the credits kind of hope. What I appreciate is how they always affirm that real love should bring out the best in people. The couple, usually without realizing it, finds that in love they can truly be themselves, and love each other for who they really are (unlike their previous relationships, which are usually shown to involve some degree of mutual or self-deception). More importantly, they find themselves driven to be better people because of their love. Thus, as often as not the difference between the “right” guy and the wrong one is that the true love recognizes the way he has been living is wrong in some way, not because he fears he’ll be rejected for it, but because he knows he deserves to be. The wrong guy, on the other hand, tends to thinks he’s entitled to the girl’s affections even when he acts like a jerk. Most of the time, Prince Charming's noble act is hidden from the heroine just long enough to create conflict, but it’s always there, and it’s usually the turning point in the film.

However predictable, sentimental and over-sexualized these movies tend to be, they rarely fail to get these central truths of love right. Watching them, I sometimes feel they set the bar too high, creating an imaginary ideal of romance that no real guy could ever attain (least of all, me). But more often I’m encouraged to work harder to love like this myself. In my relationships with my wife and daughter – in my relationship with God – I need constant reminders to sacrifice, forgive, hope and grow. That’s why, however I may roll my eyes in mock distaste, I’ll continue to rent chick flicks, for my wife, of course!

On Sin and Atonement

Last night my wife and I rented Atonement, starring Kiera Knightley and James McAvoy. It is well made and has generally been well received, nominated for seven Oscars and winning one. It wasn’t my favorite film in the world, but the acting was quite good, especially Knightley as Cecilia Tallis, McAvoy as Robbie Turner and Saoirse Ronan as the young Briony Tallis, Cecilia’s sister. The cinematography was excellent, including picturesque views of the Tallis family estate on the one hand and a devastating four minute shot of the British retreat from Dunkirk on the other. The score was just about perfect, particularly its haunting use of the sound of a typewriter, which underlined the tragic power of words which the film explores. But the real interest lies in the story Atonement tells, so that is where I will focus (minor spoiler warning; also note that this film is rated R for good reason, including some strong sexuality - though no nudity - and graphic images of the aftermath of war).

Jumping backwards and forwards in time and even repeating scenes from different perspectives, the film explores the lifelong impact of one day’s terrible events. In 1935, thirteen year old Briony witnesses a series of incidents involving her adult sister Cecilia, the family gardener’s grown son Robbie, and (separately) her cousin Lola Quincy (played by Juno Temple). First Briony sees a minor incident between Cecilia and Robbie – a vase was broken and fell into the fountain; Cecilia stripped to her underwear and retrieved it – which Briony mistakenly believed that Robbie had forced her to do. Latter, she reads a sexually explicit letter Robbie wrote to Cecilia but never intended to give to her. Then (after Cecilia has read the letter), Briony finds them having sex in the library – which she misinterprets as attempted rape. Finally, she stumbles upon her cousin Lola actually being raped by an unseen man in the garden. In a flurry of righteous indignation, she accuses Robbie of the crime and provides his lust-filled note as evidence. Robbie is sent to prison (and eventually, the army), and all of their lives are changed forever.

Without giving too much more of the plot away, the rest of the film explores Cecilia and Robbie’s longing for a future free of the shame that Briony’s lie has brought upon him, and her own attempts to find atonement for that sin. As the title implies, the second of these themes is central, and the film seems to emphasize the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of truly repaying one’s sins. For nothing Briony does can undo the damage she has caused. While she rightly seeks reconciliation, it is unclear that she is able to find it in any real sense. There is little redemption in this film – though at Dunkirk we do overhear a hymn referencing “the still small voice of God” – this story focuses on the consequences of sin.

Near the beginning of the film there is a scene at a formal dinner (watch it here), in which the misdeeds of several of the guests are hinted at, especially the infelicity of Cecilia and Robbie and an earlier attack by the soon-to-be rapist. As the story focuses on her sin particularly, only Briony is explicitly asked “what sins have you committed today?” and she denies that she has done anything wrong. Of course, she is mistaken, but I think the consequences of her lie can only be properly understood in light of the other misdeeds alluded to in this scene. These in fact provide an important subtext to the story, and help elucidate the corporate nature of evil:

Briony’s lie has terrible consequences, but it would not have had the impact it did if not for the sins of the others. Foremost among these, of course, is the rape itself. Briony was wrong to accuse Robbie, and worse for insisting she was certain when she was not, but she was not wrong that a rape had occurred. At the same time, Cecilia and Robbie’s own sins that day, while less patently evil than rape, were just as responsible for what followed as anything Briony did. For instance, she could never have misinterpreted the scene at the fountain the way she did if Cecilia had not decided to strip down in front of Robbie. The broken vase surely could have been retrieved in another way, and this immodesty was not purely innocent. Similarly, though Briony was wrong to open Robbie’s letter, she was not unjustified in finding its contents scandalous (even if he didn't mean to send it), nor were he and Cecilia innocent in how they responded to this - that is, the sex that Briony interpreted as attempted rape.

Immodesty, sexual innuendo, pre-marital sex, these things are not considered wrong by our culture, which treats rape and pedophilia (and perhaps infidelity) as the only real sexual sins. Indeed, the filmmakers themselves may well accept this common assumption, but even if so, the story they tell rightly implies that together, such lesser sins can have almost an tragic as effect as rape itself.

For as long as Briony’s sin is taken alone, it might seem surprising that she proves unable to atone for it herself, but once we realize that she is caught in a web of evil beyond her control, this becomes understandable, without excusing her own part in its outcome. Her sins combined with those of Cecilia, Robbie, the rapist and many others (enough to drive a World War, in fact) and all of them together led to the tragedy this film portrays. It is not just her one lie which needs atonement, but our whole world trapped in a cycle of evil beyond any of our control. What Atonement does best, then, is to show first the dire consequences of sin – consequences that can never be fully undone – and second to emphasize that humanly and individually, we can never atone for them ourselves.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

I finally saw the fifth Harry Potter film yesterday. It wasn’t my favorite of the series (then again, neither was the book); but I still enjoyed it, especially the final battle at the Ministry of Magic. They actually did a pretty good job of cramming the excessively lengthy book into less than two and a half hours, though there were some odd points of bad acting and it felt a bit choppy at times. Even so, there was one scene that I particularly appreciated and wanted to highlight. I don’t remember it being in the book (though I don’t have it in front of me to check), but if not, it was a great addition.

About halfway through the film, Harry is with his godfather Sirius Black and confesses his fear about the close ties between himself and the evil Lord Voldemort. Sirius’ response is a concise but excellent statement of the view of human nature which underlies so much of J.K. Rowling’s series: that it isn’t our background, family or even our abilities which define us, but our choices. The line between good and evil cuts through each and every one of us, and we each must choose which side to embrace. It’s a nice scene between the two of them, and the message is just about perfect:

Harry: This connection between me and Voldemort, what if the reason for it is that I am becoming more like him? I just feel so angry, all the time, and what if after everything that I’ve been through, something’s gone wrong inside me? What if I’m becoming bad?

Sirius: I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You’re not a bad person. You’re a very good person who bad things have happened to. You understand?

Harry nods.

Sirius: The world isn’t split into good people and death eaters, we’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we chose to act on, that’s who we really are.

I especially like the second half of Sirius' response, and the rest of the film plays on this tension well, both by showing the dire consequences of Harry's poor choices, and then by highlighting his final confrontation with the evil inside of him, at the climax of the movie. Order of the Phoenix isn't a perfect film, but it gets this part quite right.

Once Again, Hope and Sacrifice

Have you seen Once? I watched it this week (actually, I watched it twice), and it truly is an excellent film. Made on a shoe-string budget, this refreshingly unconventional love story boasts some good acting and a lot of fantastic music (which you can listen to here; nearly the whole amazing soundtrack was written by the two leads – Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová). It does include some very salty language, but otherwise it’s clean and has a great message. The story takes place in Dublin and centers on a street musician and a piano-playing single mother (they don’t have names, just “guy” and “girl” in the credits) who are both struggling with their pasts and unsure of their futures, but find common ground in their music.

It’s an engaging story with some unexpected twists, but what I really appreciate is the moral undercurrent to the film. It stresses not only real unconditional love (not mere romantic infatuation), but also the tensions between courage and responsibility, desire and commitment. The essential choice faced by each of these characters is well summed up by the Academy Award nominated song “Falling Slowly,” which frames their relationship (again, you can listen to it here):

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

I don’t want to give too much of the plot away, but I will mention one particular scene that I only understood the second time through: At one point they take a motorcycle ride on his dad’s bike. The conversation that follows is the turning point of the film, but immediately afterwards they get into this seemingly meaningless argument – she wants to drive the bike, but he doesn’t think she should. She begs, but he refuses since it’s not his and he’s not even sure he should have taken it out in the first place. The scene ends without letting us know whether he gave in or not.

At first, this argument just seemed awkward and unnecessary, but now I think it actually symbolizes the center around which the whole film turns. These characters have found life and joy again, and given each other a glimpse of hope and a way forward, but here they are reminded of their past obligations. This leaves them with a crucial decision to make: either to toss aside their commitments for the sake of the moment, or to do the right thing, even if it means sacrificing something they both want.

I won’t spoil anything more, but if you have seen it, I’d love to hear your reactions. If you haven’t, I highly recommend it!

Knocked Up and Juno, “Pro-Life” or Pro-Family?

Carmen has an interesting post on Knocked Up and the other “pro-life” movies that have come out lately, over at In the Open Space. I hope she is right that they indicate a growing feeling that we as a culture have treated life too cheaply. I do think this is true in some ways – just consider the widespread concern over the death-toll in Iraq – but we still have a long way to go.

Of the movies she mentions, I’ve only seen Knocked Up and Juno, and while I can’t really recommend the first one (it is extremely crude), it does make some good points about the pain and beauty of childbirth, the value of love, and the importance of growing up. Best of all, it is marketed to the very people who need to be reminded of those things (see my review here). Juno is also a bit crude at times, but nothing like Knocked Up, and I would heartily recommend it. It is quirky and fun, and not only presents a good story about growing up and learning to love, but it also leaves you pondering the decisions the characters made. Not too many comedies manage to leave you thinking afterwards, and Juno succeeds admirably.

I think both movies could teach the pro-life community something, as well. Though both films are decidedly “pro-life” in the sense that abortion is rejected, I think their popularity even outside pro-life circles lies precisely in the fact that they are not focused on getting that message across. Knocked Up barely even considers abortion; the woman simply chooses to have her baby, and though Juno does make that decision more explicite, it doesn't dwell on it. In other words, both films are more concerned with telling a story than with pushing an agenda, which is why they work.

That much is obvious, but I think there is another reason these films have done better than others: They are more concerned with showing the value of love and family in a broken world than they are with criticizing abortion. People don't want to be lectured about how evil abortion is, but they are open to seeing how a child can foster love and bring people together, even when the circunstances are not ideal. In their own ways, both Knocked Up and Juno accomplish that very well, and those who would like to see the prevalence of abortion diminish would do well to follow their example.

Knocked Up

Against our better judgment, my wife and I rented Knocked Up last night. She’s been wanting to see it for a while, mainly because it’s similar to one of her favorite movies (Fools Rush In) and she likes the lead actress. Unfortunately, this story of a couple of twenty-somethings who get pregnant on a one-night stand is even more crude than we feared. It’s absolutely filled with explicit language, drug use and nudity, nearly all of which is crass and unnecessary to the plot. I would in no way recommend the film, nor do I have any desire to see it again. In all honesty, we should have just turned it off; it was that bad.

But we didn’t, and in the end, Knocked Up worked surprisingly well as social commentary. Its intended audience is the perpetually adolescent guy who looks for “Unrated” versions and would like nothing better than to spend his days smoking pot with his buddies. Yet that is precisely the kind of lifestyle the film criticizes. The lead character (Ben Stone, played by Seth Rogen) is essentially a 23-year old frat boy (minus the college education), living with four guys who spend all their time smoking and goofing off. None of them have real jobs (who knows how they afford rent, let alone weed) and their only ambition is to create a website detailing their favorite stars' nude scenes. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that their real dream would be to actually sleep with those celebrities, but the website is their only achievable ambition.

If this is the type of guy the movie is meant to attract, however, it quickly becomes apparent just how empty such a life really is. Ben is a slob, living in a pig-sty with four friends who barely even like each other. Running out of money and wasting the best years of his life, he's going nowhere and he doesn’t even realize it. When he finally meets the girl of his dreams (Alison Scott, played by Katherine Heigl), he gets so drunk he hardly remembers sleeping with her, and doesn’t realize how much he disgusts her until it’s too late. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, it’s certain she would never have gone out with him again (she only met him at all because she herself got too drunk while out celebrating a promotion).

And so the movie goes, until it finally allows Ben to hit rock bottom: nearly broke, his life is so meaningless that when an earthquake hits, the only thing he cares to save is his bong (he forgets that his pregnant girlfriend is sleeping in the next room). He doesn’t know what he’s missing until he and Alison’s brother-in-law spend a drugged-out weekend in Vegas. Sitting alone in their hotel room, they suddenly realize what a mess they’ve made of their lives. They have these smart, beautiful women who (completely improbably) love them, and yet they spend most of their time trying to get away from them.

By the time it’s over, Knocked Up is really about these two guys growing up and taking responsibility for their lives, which is a remarkably wholesome message from a movie that is anything but wholesome. I would not recommend this film to anyone (I rather wish I hadn’t watched it myself), but maybe, just maybe, it is the kind of thing that might wake up a few of the overgrown teenagers to whom it’s been marketed. For if there is anything more distressing than the characters in this movie, it’s the fact that there really are guys who live like Ben, and don't see what's wrong with it. This film is for them, and I hope it finds its mark.

Hope and Sacrifice in The Shawshank Redemption

My all time favorite movie is The Shawshank Redemption. It’s a tale of hope in the midst of despair, of salvation on the other side of suffering. It’s the story of Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins), a successful banker condemned to Shawshank prison for the murder of his wife and her lover.

It’s a hard movie to watch, and certainly not for children. It doesn’t blink at the horrors of incarceration, but because of that, it offers a powerful exploration of human nature. From the depths of depravity when Andy faces gang rape by “the sisters,” to the heights of redemption when he teaches “Red” (Morgan Freeman) the meaning of hope, in all this we get a glimpse into what it means to be human.

Hope. That is the center around which this film revolves. Shawshank is a terrible place, but worse than the corrupt warden and sadistic guards, worse even than “the sisters” (they aren’t homosexual, Red notes, “they’d have to be human first”), its real danger is the power to dehumanize. For its walls and bars do more than just keep men inside, they change those they contain. “First you hate them, then you get used to them,” Red explains, “enough time passes, you get so you depend on them.” He calls it being “institutionalized” – spend enough time in prison and it no longer matters why you’re there; guilty or innocent, there comes a time when you no longer have an identity except as an inmate. You lose your autonomy, and by then even release leaves nothing but the broken shell of a man. “They send you here for life, and that’s exactly what they take.”

There is only one thing that can save a man in Shawshank – hope. Yet what is hope? Is it just a pipe dream, a delusion, a refusal to accept reality and thus ultimately hopeless. That’s what Red thinks, but Andy knows better. He knows that, whatever men may do to the body, they can never kill the soul. Referring specifically to music, he says you need it to remember “there’s something inside that they can’t get to, they can’t touch.” Even so, Andy is not content to ignore the world and hide in his mind. Twice, he risks his life and position to show his friends what hope means. In one case, he gladly accepts two weeks of solitary confinement for broadcasting opera over the prison loudspeakers. “Easiest time I ever did.”

For what Andy realized – and this is where the movie really shines - is that real hope is not about closing your eyes to the evil around you, stopping your ears and dreaming. No, true hope, paradoxically, comes by actively dying to yourself. “Get busy living, or get busy dying,” he tells Red, for it’s only when you willingly risk everything, that freedom becomes possible. That’s what Andy learned in Shawshank prison, and hope springs eternal.

“For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:25)