Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

Julia Haslett's 'An Encounter with Simone Weil' - Review by Bethany Swallow

Simone Weil, a French-woman born in the twentieth century remains a hidden treasure among many philosophers of her time. Her works, published after her death, contain jewels of contemplative, spiritual, pedagogical and political insights. More recently, Weil has emerged as an icon of peace, with many recognizing her immense wisdom and strength. Director Julia Haslett is one such admirer who was featured in Vancouver's Doxa Film Festival held this past May. Her documentary, “An Encounter with Simone Weil” (2010) tells Haslett’s own journey of suffering, while attempting to interact with the inspirational, yet tragic life of Simone Weil. Haslett draws her viewers to the life of Simone Weil through personal and historical narrative, and helps each to wrestle with the truths of suffering on an individual and global scope.

        Julia Haslett’s artistic and personal efforts are undeniably honorable in this film; despite this, “An Encounter with Simone Weil” leaves somewhat of a bitter taste in the viewer’s mouth. The film is more about Haslett’s experiences of suffering, longing and questioning, rather than the tremendously enigmatic life of twentieth century philosopher, educator and peace-activist Simone Weil. Haslett explores larger questions such as, “How do we respond to human suffering?” or “How do we remain engaged without ultimately destroying ourselves?” Yet, I felt somewhat dissatisfied with her limited interaction around questions such as “How do we become more whole beings?” and “How does faith inform action?” Of course, my own journey leads me to these mysteries of life, and I honor Haslett’s pursuit of her own personal understanding, despite feeling disappointed at the narrow scope of her exploration into Simone Weil. With very little recognition in the discipline of philosophy since her death, Simone Weil is boldly celebrated in this film, becoming a beacon of mystery and inspiration for not only Haslett, but also viewers alike. I respect Haslett’s attempt to treasure Simone Weil in this documentary. I join with her in her efforts to make Simone Weil known to others, hoping that Weil’s life may offer wisdom, truth and hope for our fragile world.

Forgiving Dr. Mengele -- Review by Peri Zhand

Tonight, while Brian spent yet another evening working on his new book, "Unconditional? The Call of Jesus to Radical Forgiveness", I watched a documentary called "Forgiving Dr. Mengele."

Eva Kor and her sister Miriam were identical ten year old Jewish twins, and because they were twins they were yanked from their mother as they stood in line to face the crematorium in Auschwitz, Poland. Their mother and every other family member perished. They were saved so that they could be used to be part of medical experiments, cruel barbaric acts of torture devised by a Nazi maniac physician named Dr. Mengele.

The Proper Care and Feeding a an American Messiah - Mocumentary Trailer

War of the Worlds by Kevin Miller

How do we respond to evil? How should we respond to evil? Those are the main questions raised by War of the Worlds, Steven Spielberg’s take on H. G. Wells’ classic tale of invaders from outer space. And nothing could be more evil than the creatures represented in this film: alien life forms who have plotted the annihilation of the human race for centuries, even going so far as to bury their machines of extermination deep under the earth long before humans ever arrived on the scene. Pre-meditated killing at its best.

And yet, for all their technology, these aliens seem surprisingly inefficient, choosing to mow down human beings, buildings, and neighborhoods one at a time rather than taking them out in one, big “schebang.” If humans really are bugs in the aliens’ eyes—as the opening narrative of this film suggests—obviously no one on their planet has ever heard of “Raid.” Mere humans have come up with vastly superior means to wipe out bugs, never mind their fellow human beings. Perhaps these extra-terrestrial killers are as sporting as they are vicious. Eventually, however, it is revealed that the aliens have something more in mind than a simple holocaust—even though holocaust imagery is used throughout the film. Don’t worry: I won’t tell you what that ulterior motive is; because, frankly, I don’t think I really understand it myself!

And that, essentially, is where this film breaks down: when it comes to offering explanations. For example, apart from a few comments in the opening narrative about how the aliens have watched our world with envy over the centuries, we have no idea why these aliens attack. Has their home world gone sour? Did they have a bad encounter with humans in the past? No, it appears they are just plain evil. At least that is what we must assume, seeing as virtually no attempt is made to personify the enemy. Add this to the series of increasingly preposterous coincidences that allow the heroes to survive the onslaught, and this film veers dangerously close to a one-way trip to the remainder bin. The porous script is redeemed somewhat by excellent direction, sound design, acting, and special effects. But when the foundation of the structure is bad, it isn’t long before the entire thing comes crashing down—and it doesn’t take a death ray from outer space to do it.

As I reflected on the spiritual aspect of this film, two things struck me: First, as I have already mentioned, is the depiction of the alien invaders. David Bruce (www.hollywoodjesus.com) points out in his excellent commentary on this film (located elsewhere on this site) that the characterization of the aliens in War of the Worlds is a clear reflection of the times. Back in the 1980s, Stephen Spielberg brought us E.T., a film about an ugly albeit friendly alien who was more bent on exploration than destruction. According to Bruce, this represented our desire to end the Cold War before nuclear proliferation killed us all. What a contrast to the nameless and nearly faceless invaders Spielberg brings us in War of the Worlds. And yet, how appropriate, seeing as that is how our enemies are often portrayed today, especially by propagators of the so-called “War on Terror.” Perhaps Spielberg sees this film as a way to help us expunge some of the fear we experience every time we turn on the evening news.

Unfortunately, rather than serve the film (and the viewer) I think Spielberg’s anonymous depiction of the enemy actually dooms the film instead by essentially confining the action along two dimensions: fight or flight. Both of these responses to evil may be valid under certain circumstances, but they are also instinctive and, therefore, highly uncreative. Even the lowest form of animal—take bugs, for example—will choose one of these two strategies when faced with a threat. But contrary to what the aliens in this film think, we are much more than bugs, aren’t we? If so, doesn’t that demand a more creative, more human response to evil? 

Don’t get me wrong: Fleeing from evil may be effective and necessary for a time, but eventually, as this film demonstrates, we will run out of places to hide. And then what? History contains countless examples of the barbarity humans are reduced to under such circumstances. (Read Josephus’ account of the sack of Jerusalem in ad 70 for example.) Taking a vengeful, “eye for an eye” response to evil is also doomed to failure, because it leads inevitably to escalation—either mutually assured destruction or desperate acts of terror in the face of overwhelming force. This fact is also demonstrated in War of the Worlds as well as in our own War on Terror. So the question remains: What would a more human, more three-dimensional response to evil look like? What would it look like in terms of this film? In terms of real life?

War of the Worlds gives us a partial answer when, at a critical juncture, hero Ray Ferrier stops running from the aliens and actually allows them to capture him instead. For perhaps the first time in this film, mere survival is no longer Ray’s primary motive. Finally, he has found something more important than his own life, and he is willing to risk everything to attain it. Not coincidentally, this is the precise moment when the tide begins to turn against the aliens.

So, we can see that part of the answer to our question is self-sacrifice. Taken either physically or literally, a self-sacrificial response to evil goes beyond an instinctive flight or fight response and asks, “How might we ensure that we not only defeat evil but, in defeating it, not become the evil thing we are trying to overcome?”

Beyond self-sacrificial love for those near and dear to us, however, a second factor must be present if we are to take a truly three-dimensional response to evil, and that is this: self-sacrificial love of enemy. I’ll admit: It’s difficult to love—much less be willing to die for—a nameless, faceless enemy, especially one that is trying to wipe you off the face of the planet. But isn’t that exactly what Christ did on the cross? As the Apostle Paul says in Romans 5:8, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Elsewhere Paul says, “For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!” (Romans 5:10) Anyone who claims to be a follower of Christ must follow this example. And anyone who is not a follower of Christ should give it serious consideration—as did people like Gandhi, with resounding success.

War of the Worlds teeters on the brink of such a three-dimensional response to evil, and that is one of the few times this movie threatens to break out of the two-dimensional prison in which it has confined itself. If we want to break out of the same prison—to respond to evil as human beings, not as mere bugs—then we must be willing to fully embrace this third dimension as well. I’m not saying it will be easy. I love my life and the life of my family and friends as much as anyone. But, like the Apostle Paul, I have also glimpsed the greater good. I realize that whether I live or die is not the most important thing. It’s what I live or die for that really matters.

Constantine by Kevin Miller

Perhaps I was reading too much into the symbolic language of this film, but when the opening shot featured two squatters scrabbling around in the dusty ruins of a Mexican church, I had a feeling institutional Christianity was in for a rough ride. That feeling intensified when one of the squatters broke through the church’s rotting floor and discovered a religious relic wrapped in a Nazi flag, no less. And instead of bringing about healing or redemption, this relic—the so-called “Spear of Destiny” used to pierce Jesus’ side following his crucifixion—brought only death and destruction. In less than 60 seconds, the filmmakers had depicted the church as irrelevant, fascist, superstitious, and lethal. Where were they going to go from here?

As the film progressed, however, I was surprised to discover that Constantine wasn’t as interested in attacking the church as it was in appropriating various aspects of Christian theology and mythology for its own purposes. Using a mixture of Catholic and Protestant tradition as raw material, the filmmakers created their own rather fascinating cosmology, one that posits—not unlike the book of Job—that God and Satan have made a wager with no less than the souls of humankind hanging in the balance. The rules? No interference allowed, just influence. The cosmic super being with the most souls in the end wins. Thrown into the mix is a race of half-breeds—half-human/half-angel or demon. These are the “influence peddlers,” as John Constantine calls them. With full-blooded demons and angels restricted to their respectively hellish and heavenly realms, the half-breeds are the only non-human participants in this celestial game.

Every so often, one of these half-breeds breaks the rules, moving from influence to interference. When this happens, Constantine steps in and “deports” them back to hell. To do so, he employs a combination of pagan and Catholic artifacts and rituals, a fact that is sure to incite those who hold allegiance to the Vatican. How did John Constantine—a mere human—inherit such a role? Since he was a child, the spiritual beings that haunt this world were plainly visible to him, and he to them. Eventually, this “gift” of seeing became so overwhelming that Constantine tried to commit suicide as a way of escape. But rather than offer an escape from hell, his actions delivered him to that place of fire and brimstone instead—them’s the breaks, according to Catholicism’s rules about such matters. Two minutes later, his soul was yanked back to the land of the living. But for Constantine, it felt like he had been gone for an eternity.

Forever altered by his sojourn into hell but knowing he was doomed to return as a consequence for his sin, Constantine has dedicated his life to deporting as many demons as possible in the hope that eventually God will relent and grant him admission to heaven. The point that Constantine keeps overlooking though—as a half-breed angel named Gabriel reminds him—is that you can’t earn your way into God’s good graces. It takes faith and self-sacrifice.

Even before his stint in hell, faith was not something with which John Constantine struggled. Who needs faith when the things hoped for, the things unseen—and the things most feared—are all around you (cf. Hebrews 11:1)? It’s self-sacrifice that poses the real problem to Constantine, but not because he is inherently self-centered. He just doesn’t see the point of it. And who can blame him? With a God who merely toys with the beings he has created, how could anyone take his ethical requirements seriously? God’s apparent indifference to the affairs of Men puts him not only in the same league as the devil but also on the same team. Such a God could not be anything but evil. But not all hope is lost for Constantine. Despite appearances to the contrary, eventually even he comes to believe that God might have a plan for his life, one that doesn’t involve relegating him to eternal damnation.

No doubt, many Christians will be upset that this film takes such license with orthodox theology. This might be a valid criticism if Constantine actually tried to portray its version of the spiritual world as true—the same way author Dan Brown tried to portray The Da Vinci Code’s version of church history as correct. However, the people behind this film make no bones about the fact that they are constructing a fantasy, period. That they treat the church as basically inconsequential in the spiritual battles that rage on this planet is not to be taken lightly. But once again, I do not think it is something to get angry about. If some people feel this way about the church, it is incumbent on Christians to find out why and then address such issues accordingly, not simply lash out because someone dared to criticize our record.

While the theology of this film is far from orthodox, the themes and questions it raises are a different story. Few Christian films have done a better job of depicting the difference between works and grace. And few mainstream films offer such a strong affirmation of the spiritual dimension of life, showing it to be every bit as real and consequential as the physical. Constantine also addresses a number of spiritual questions that seem particularly pressing at this point in time, questions like “Is God good?” “Does he have a plan for me?” “Is he out to get me?” “Is he even there?” and “What must I do to be saved?” 

While I hope viewers won’t blindly accept the deistic, dualistic portrayal of good and evil in this film, I do hope it inspires them to think more seriously about the above questions and the spiritual dimension of life as a whole. Constantine certainly had that effect on me. And for those of you who feel the filmmakers’ depiction of the church in the opening sequence of this film was pretty much dead on, I urge you to give Christianity a second chance. The church’s record is far from unblemished. But it is not nearly the inconsequential, fascist, spiritually bankrupt institution this film makes it out to be.

Not quite The Matrix but infinitely better than Van Helsing, Constantine is that rare supernatural thriller that isn’t afraid to make you think. I’m already looking forward to the sequel.

Million Dollar Baby by Kevin Miller

“Some choices you don’t want to make,” says Scrap, the one-time heavyweight contender who narrates this film. Unfortunately, his boss, boxing trainer Frankie Dunn, is about to be presented with a real doozie.

It doesn’t appear that way at first. In fact, had I not been aware of all the controversy surrounding this film, I would have been disappointed that a brilliant director like Clint Eastwood had devoted one of his few remaining years to craft what was turning out to be a compelling but not quite innovative boxing movie. And then, right when the formula called for a “Rocky-like” character to start shouting “Adrian! Adrian!” with his/her eyes swollen shut and arms raised in victory, Eastwood pulled the old “one-two” and knocked us face-first onto the canvas.

When the world finally came back into focus, we found ourselves in a completely different moral landscape. Up to that point, the film had revolved around a traditional win/lose axis. Now we were in life and death territory, and it didn’t look like there was any escape—at least none that would cost Frankie anything less than his soul.

If it seems like I’m dancing around this film’s subject matter, that’s because I am. To do any differently would be to ruin the viewing experience for those who don’t yet know the story. At the same time, it is difficult to address the compelling questions this film raises without giving away the big plot twist. So if you haven’t seen the movie yet, perhaps you should save the rest of this review for later. If you have seen the film and you’re eager to dig deeper into its themes, read on.

Let me start by saying that, sadly, the response of many Christian critics to this film has been as predictable as a thunderstorm in Saskatchewan. You could see it coming for miles, and it was all dark clouds and thunder. The fact that Eastwood dared to even broach the topic of euthanasia seems to have offended them as much as it offended the priest Frankie consults in this film. And, like the priest, rather than take a thoughtful, compassionate approach to the issue and the people involved, these reviewers simply remind us of the consequences—the rules, as it were—and then leave us to our own devices. However, I think these Christian reviewers are reading this movie all wrong. Even though Frankie turns compassionate executioner in the end, I do not see Million Dollar Baby as an endorsement of euthanasia by any stretch. In fact, I have yet to see a film that does such an effective job of raising an ethical question and then allowing us to form our own conclusions about it rather than hitting us over the head with an opinion. With this film, I do not believe Eastwood is saying assisted suicide is right. He is saying that it is a complicated subject that raises more questions than answers; that it looks a lot different when you are face-to-face with someone begging to die than it does on paper.

Some of the questions Million Dollar Baby raised in my mind are: Is there a pain so great that it negates the reason for living? Can the Angel of Mercy ever look like the Angel of Death? Can the face of the executioner ever be the face of God? Did Frankie deliver Maggie from hell or deliver her (and himself) to it? When do the hands of Man become the hands of God? When do they become the hands of the devil? And how can we know the difference? The priest in this film said that sometimes we need to step out of the way and let God do his work. But aren’t we God’s agents on earth? As Scrap says several times in this film, “In boxing, everything is backwards.” What about life? Perhaps instead of stepping out of the way in such circumstances God is waiting for us to step in and do his work. After all, God has given us the power of life and death over our fellow human beings. Isn’t it possible that there are some instances in which exercising this power is not a sin but a blessing? Many people think so when it comes to war, capital punishment, and abortion. Why not euthanasia?

Lest anyone think that Iam endorsing euthanasia in this review, I am not. I’m not advocating against it either though because, frankly, I don’t think I have answered the above questions well enough for myself yet. However, I do know that as I watched Frankie bend over and kiss Maggie one last time, he had no motive other than love in his heart. I also realized that no matter how miserable she was, there was no way I could have brought myself to reduce this beautiful, spirited girl to nothing but a cold lump of flesh. It just goes to show that when it comes to life and death choices like this, sometimes emotions can cloud your judgment. At other times, though, I think they make things perfectly clear.

Scrap is correct. No one wants to face a choice like this. But with the “right to die” movement growing in strength, I am thankful that Clint Eastwood used this film to give the question of assisted suicide the moral gravity and attention it deserves.

Coach Carter by Kevin Miller

The majority of films are forgettable. A slim minority are entertaining. A precious few are insightful. And then, every so often, a film comes along that is truly significant. Hotel Rwanda is one such film.

Hotel Rwanda is a significant film primarily because it documents an era in history when the system broke down. It was a time when people around the world glanced up at their television sets during dinner, saw images of carnage and genocide, and then calmly resumed their meals. Over a period of 100 days in 1994, nearly one million people were massacred in Rwanda—many of them women and children, and most of them hacked to death by their neighbors with machetes. But, apart from a few NGO’s and religious groups, the world didn’t lift a finger to stop the killing.

Outsiders did not intervene, this film argues, because to most people, Rwandans were not even “niggers,” they were Africans. While racism likely had something to do with our hesitance to intervene, I am certain that bureaucratic squabbling and incompetence were just as significant. But no matter why the world failed to step forward, the fact remains that nearly one million people died, and millions more were injured and/or traumatized by the violence. If there is one message that comes through loud and clear in this film, it is this: Never again. As difficult as it is to imagine, we would be naïve to think that such atrocities will not happen again somewhere in the world. I just pray that we have learned enough from our indifference and incompetence in this situation to respond more appropriately in the future.

Hotel Rwanda is also significant because it shows us that in the midst of the carnage (which the film mostly suggests rather than depicts), there were also people who did care. One of these people was Paul Rusesabagina, manager of the Hotel Des Milles Collines, a four star establishment in Kigali. Paul’s intentions are far from selfless at the beginning of the film. He is more focused on currying favor with the power elite than helping his fellow man. But when the killing begins, he does not hesitate to use his connections to protect Tutsi and Hutu refugees, eventually sheltering 1,286 of them in his hotel. As this film portrays, this was an extraordinary feat, made possible mainly by Rusesabagina’s influence, intelligence, bravery, and wit. Other heroic figures in this film include the embittered UN colonel tasked with watching the massacre but not intervening, a young news cameraman who lays his life on the line to get the story to the world, a Red Cross worker who is forced to witness the execution of the children she is trying to rescue, and numerous unnamed Catholic priests and nuns. With so many films, TV shows, and politicians suggesting revenge as the only appropriate response to evil, it is refreshing to see a film that demonstrates characters who embrace an alternate point of view. While the Hutus and Tutsis were slaughtering each other as a way to settle old scores—trying to overcome evil with evil—Rusesabagina and company were trying to overcome evil with good. And, miracle of miracles, it worked! For those who wonder whether there really is anything good in the midst of all the horror they witness on CNN each week, this film answers with a resounding “Yes!” There is reason for hope. All it takes is for good men and women to act boldly in the face of tragedy.

Finally, this film is significant because it reminds us that no matter how comfortable our lives are over here, there are always people living over there for whom comfort is but a vague thought at the bottom of a long list of primary needs. With the death toll from the South Asian tsunami still rising, this is hardly a new thought. But I am certain it will not be long before we, too, look up from our dinner at the scenes of horror caused by this natural disaster, and then resume our meal. As any aid agency will tell you, people have a tendency to respond generously to such situations out of emotion over the short term. But that response quickly fizzles out as we become immune to the images and resume our normal lives. Hence, we need films like Hotel Rwanda to help us fend off indifference and remind us that giving is not a one-time event. If we truly want to make a difference, if we truly want to prevent tragedies like Rwanda from happening again, generosity must become a lifestyle.

When it comes time for the Oscars this February, I hope Hotel Rwanda is nominated for Best Picture, if only because that means more people will see it. That said; I am doubtful it will win, mainly because from an artistic point of view, it is not exactly a spectacular film. The acting is first-rate, especially by star Don Cheadle, and the script is solid. But director Terry George has chosen dramatic realism over flash and style, which may not impress some voters. I guess it all comes down to what Academy members base their votes on: style or significance. If it is the latter, Hotel Rwanda will definitely go home with the gold.

Hotel Rwanda by Kevin Miller

The majority of films are forgettable. A slim minority are entertaining. A precious few are insightful. And then, every so often, a film comes along that is truly significant. Hotel Rwanda is one such film.

Hotel Rwanda is a significant film primarily because it documents an era in history when the system broke down. It was a time when people around the world glanced up at their television sets during dinner, saw images of carnage and genocide, and then calmly resumed their meals. Over a period of 100 days in 1994, nearly one million people were massacred in Rwanda—many of them women and children, and most of them hacked to death by their neighbors with machetes. But, apart from a few NGO’s and religious groups, the world didn’t lift a finger to stop the killing.

Outsiders did not intervene, this film argues, because to most people, Rwandans were not even “niggers,” they were Africans. While racism likely had something to do with our hesitance to intervene, I am certain that bureaucratic squabbling and incompetence were just as significant. But no matter why the world failed to step forward, the fact remains that nearly one million people died, and millions more were injured and/or traumatized by the violence. If there is one message that comes through loud and clear in this film, it is this: Never again. As difficult as it is to imagine, we would be naïve to think that such atrocities will not happen again somewhere in the world. I just pray that we have learned enough from our indifference and incompetence in this situation to respond more appropriately in the future.

Hotel Rwanda is also significant because it shows us that in the midst of the carnage (which the film mostly suggests rather than depicts), there were also people who did care. One of these people was Paul Rusesabagina, manager of the Hotel Des Milles Collines, a four star establishment in Kigali. Paul’s intentions are far from selfless at the beginning of the film. He is more focused on currying favor with the power elite than helping his fellow man. But when the killing begins, he does not hesitate to use his connections to protect Tutsi and Hutu refugees, eventually sheltering 1,286 of them in his hotel. As this film portrays, this was an extraordinary feat, made possible mainly by Rusesabagina’s influence, intelligence, bravery, and wit. Other heroic figures in this film include the embittered UN colonel tasked with watching the massacre but not intervening, a young news cameraman who lays his life on the line to get the story to the world, a Red Cross worker who is forced to witness the execution of the children she is trying to rescue, and numerous unnamed Catholic priests and nuns. With so many films, TV shows, and politicians suggesting revenge as the only appropriate response to evil, it is refreshing to see a film that demonstrates characters who embrace an alternate point of view. While the Hutus and Tutsis were slaughtering each other as a way to settle old scores—trying to overcome evil with evil—Rusesabagina and company were trying to overcome evil with good. And, miracle of miracles, it worked! For those who wonder whether there really is anything good in the midst of all the horror they witness on CNN each week, this film answers with a resounding “Yes!” There is reason for hope. All it takes is for good men and women to act boldly in the face of tragedy.

Finally, this film is significant because it reminds us that no matter how comfortable our lives are over here, there are always people living over there for whom comfort is but a vague thought at the bottom of a long list of primary needs. With the death toll from the South Asian tsunami still rising, this is hardly a new thought. But I am certain it will not be long before we, too, look up from our dinner at the scenes of horror caused by this natural disaster, and then resume our meal. As any aid agency will tell you, people have a tendency to respond generously to such situations out of emotion over the short term. But that response quickly fizzles out as we become immune to the images and resume our normal lives. Hence, we need films like Hotel Rwanda to help us fend off indifference and remind us that giving is not a one-time event. If we truly want to make a difference, if we truly want to prevent tragedies like Rwanda from happening again, generosity must become a lifestyle.

When it comes time for the Oscars this February, I hope Hotel Rwanda is nominated for Best Picture, if only because that means more people will see it. That said; I am doubtful it will win, mainly because from an artistic point of view, it is not exactly a spectacular film. The acting is first-rate, especially by star Don Cheadle, and the script is solid. But director Terry George has chosen dramatic realism over flash and style, which may not impress some voters. I guess it all comes down to what Academy members base their votes on: style or significance. If it is the latter, Hotel Rwanda will definitely go home with the gold.

Lemony Snicke's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" by Kevin Miller

And the Oscar goes to… Jim Carrey, Jim Carrey, and Jim Carrey.” That’s what I hope to hear come February 27, 2005. One statuette for each character the actor portrays in this film. After all, isn’t it time critics stopped chiding Carrey for super-sizing every performance and started recognizing that is exactly what he was put on earth to do? If this movie also wins awards for production design, costumes, makeup, and directing, it will have been a very good night indeed—and well deserved.

That said; the one award I would withhold from A Series of Unfortunate Events is “Best Picture.” Yes, this is an entertaining film. And it does succeed in creating memorable characters, exciting situations, and a highly innovative fantasy world. But, based as it is on the first three books in the Lemony Snicket series, the movie also suffers from a serious case of “episodism.” What I mean is, the same sorts of scenes and situations keep happening over and over again. After their parents are killed in a mysterious fire that also destroys their mansion, the Bauedelaire children—Violet, who invents things; Klaus, who reads; and two-year-old Sunny, who can bite—are shipped off to one mysterious relative after another. All the while, they are hunted by the evil Count Olaf, leader of a gothic acting troupe who is bent on killing the children and stealing their inheritance. Relying on their wits and a bit of luck, the children manage to escape Olaf again and again, only to be shipped off to yet another mysterious “relative.” The third time this happens, some of the threads begin to sag in what has been up till then a tautly woven adventure. But such problems are endemic to stories that intentionally withhold the climax until a subsequent film.

In the tradition of classic children’s tales like Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang or virtually any novel by Roald Dahl, the adults in this film are either clueless or evil. Either way, they cannot be trusted. I’m not sure that I am entirely comfortable with this message. The world being what it is, children today are more in need of assurance than cynicism. Then again, a bit of healthy skepticism when it comes to adults and their intentions is never a bad thing. I also think the Bauedelaire children serve as healthy role models for kids today. Left alone in the world, as it were, they are forced to think for themselves—a skill that many adults struggle to master. The children also demonstrate that everyone has something to contribute to the good of the group, and that we are stronger when we work together than on our own. 

Finally, I also affirm the overall message of this film. For children who may suffer at the hands of adults, as the Bauedelaire children most definitely do, this movie assures them that what might at first seem like a series of unfortunate events may actually be the beginning of a beautiful journey. And even though the world may appear evil, if we look hard enough, we will discover there is much more good than bad. I can’t imagine a more appropriate message for this time of year.

Team America: World Police by Kevin Miller

First of all, Friday Night Lights is a great sports movie. It has everything you expect from a film in this genre: an appealing—albeit motley—bunch of players, each with his own hopes and inner conflicts; a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for the team to overcome during the upcoming season; a coach who drives them hard but who really has a heart of gold; and tons of bone-crunching action that looks as if it came from a ten-year “best of” sports highlight reel. Films like Hoosiers, Remember the Titans, and Miracle set the stage for this genre, but Friday Night Lights has stolen the show.

But Friday Night Lights is more than just a great sports movie; it is a great movie—period. In fact, I would almost say it is a “perfect” film. You’ll have to watch it to know exactly what I mean by that, but it has everything to do with quality. The acting, the directing, the lighting, the script, the camera that won’t stop moving—I could burn through a phone book of superlatives in every one of these areas. More importantly, however, I loved this film because it does exactly what all movies should do: It makes viewers feel something, perhaps more powerfully than they have ever felt it before. In this case, the overwhelming feeling is one of inspiration. Friday Night Lights compels you to examine your life, to make sure you haven’t lost track of why you are living it, and to refocus on doing your best, on striving toward achieving something extraordinary. Although sports is the central metaphor, Friday Night Lights is really about what it means to be human, the things that get in the way of that pursuit, and how those thing might be overcome.

Hell is a small town in this film, and its name is Odessa, Texas. The only means of salvation are to get out (if you’re smart enough or rich enough) or to make it big playing football. Since few people are able to do either one, most resign themselves to “memories and babies” and spend the rest of their lives reflecting on the glory days while living out their vanquished dreams through the local high school football team. Having failed to achieve anything of consequence themselves, they feel their only hope for significance is for the Permian Panthers to have a winning season. And they will do everything they can to ensure that happens. As a Canadian, I’ve always wondered why small town America is so obsessed with high school football. This film gave me at least a partial answer as to why.

As you can imagine, such expectations put an enormous amount of pressure on the young men who make up this team. For most of the guys, football ceased to be about fun a long time ago. Coach Gary Gaines wears his role like a death sentence, at one point telling his guys, “You have the responsibility of protecting this team and this school and this town.” Whew. Anyone up for a little two-hand touch? Consequently, the upcoming season isn’t really something to look forward to; it’s just something to endure, to survive. If the Panthers win State, then the pressure is off. If not, well, as one of the team’s boosters tells Gaines, “Things won’t go well for you.” Despite the pressure, it’s obvious that Gaines and his boys really do love the game. If only people would leave them alone long enough so they could relax and enjoy the experience. Who knows? Perhaps they might even become a better team as a result.

The pressure to perform affects each character differently. Gaines is more disappointed than intimidated by the constant harassment and abuse. He seems to be operating from a set of inner convictions that few other characters in this film possess. Quarterback Mike Winchell is another story. Driven by a football-obsessed mother at home and a fan base that celebrates him one moment and then vilifies him the next, his every look and mannerism tells you he just can’t wait for this show to be over. Then there’s Boobie Miles, the NFL-bound star who blows his chance at the big-time for a shot at small-town glory. Finally, you have Don Billingsly. He’s so wound up most of the time due to his abusive, former State Champion father that he can’t even hold onto the football. Indeed, whatever dysfunctions are present in Odessa, they all manifest themselves in this football team in one way or another. And it’s all the players can do just to hold things together.

At one point, Coach Gaines senses Winchell is about to crack, so he decides it’s time for a little “man-to-man” with his quarterback. During their conversation, Coach Gaines tells Winchell that he is old enough by now to realize that sometimes life gives you the short end of the stick. The question is: What are we going to do about it? Will we allow it to define the rest of our lives, as some characters in this film do, or are we going to find some way to overcome it? For Gaines, it all comes down to where you find your identity. On what will you base your life? Winning? That didn’t work so well for people like Don Billingsly’s dad. When his team won State, he was the centre of everyone’s hopes and dreams. But when the season ended, he was faced with the glaring question: What do you do when the cheering stops? By the time we meet him, he is still trying to find a satisfactory answer to that problem, one that goes beyond self-medication, that is.

So if not winning, then what? Coach Gaines’s answer sounds frustrating at first: Perfection. By this, however, he does not mean flawlessness. To him, perfection means knowing that you did your best, knowing that there wasn’t one more thing you could have done to achieve your objective. It means having love and joy in your heart for your fellow players and your fellow man. For Gaines, true victory is a victory of character. It’s not whether you win or lose or even how you play the game. It’s about who you become as a result.

Interestingly, Jesus made a similar entreaty to his disciples: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). I’ve always found this verse somewhat frustrating as well. Who can be perfect? Doesn’t the mere attempt just lead to striving and guilt? But when you look at it the way Coach Gaines does, suddenly it makes “perfect” sense. Jesus isn’t saying that life—being human—is about being the best. It’s not even about performing "your own personal best." It’s about allowing the challenges you face to mold you into the best person you can be.

This is accomplished not through striving or guilt but by inviting God to manifest his perfect character through you during such circumstances. “We all dig our own holes,” says Gaines. If so, then perhaps yielding to this sort of perfection is the key to digging our way out.

Friday Night Lights by Kevin Miller

First of all, Friday Night Lights is a great sports movie. It has everything you expect from a film in this genre: an appealing—albeit motley—bunch of players, each with his own hopes and inner conflicts; a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for the team to overcome during the upcoming season; a coach who drives them hard but who really has a heart of gold; and tons of bone-crunching action that looks as if it came from a ten-year “best of” sports highlight reel. Films like Hoosiers, Remember the Titans, and Miracle set the stage for this genre, but Friday Night Lights has stolen the show.

But Friday Night Lights is more than just a great sports movie; it is a great movie—period. In fact, I would almost say it is a “perfect” film. You’ll have to watch it to know exactly what I mean by that, but it has everything to do with quality. The acting, the directing, the lighting, the script, the camera that won’t stop moving—I could burn through a phone book of superlatives in every one of these areas. More importantly, however, I loved this film because it does exactly what all movies should do: It makes viewers feel something, perhaps more powerfully than they have ever felt it before. In this case, the overwhelming feeling is one of inspiration. Friday Night Lights compels you to examine your life, to make sure you haven’t lost track of why you are living it, and to refocus on doing your best, on striving toward achieving something extraordinary. Although sports is the central metaphor, Friday Night Lights is really about what it means to be human, the things that get in the way of that pursuit, and how those thing might be overcome.

Hell is a small town in this film, and its name is Odessa, Texas. The only means of salvation are to get out (if you’re smart enough or rich enough) or to make it big playing football. Since few people are able to do either one, most resign themselves to “memories and babies” and spend the rest of their lives reflecting on the glory days while living out their vanquished dreams through the local high school football team. Having failed to achieve anything of consequence themselves, they feel their only hope for significance is for the Permian Panthers to have a winning season. And they will do everything they can to ensure that happens. As a Canadian, I’ve always wondered why small town America is so obsessed with high school football. This film gave me at least a partial answer as to why.

As you can imagine, such expectations put an enormous amount of pressure on the young men who make up this team. For most of the guys, football ceased to be about fun a long time ago. Coach Gary Gaines wears his role like a death sentence, at one point telling his guys, “You have the responsibility of protecting this team and this school and this town.” Whew. Anyone up for a little two-hand touch? Consequently, the upcoming season isn’t really something to look forward to; it’s just something to endure, to survive. If the Panthers win State, then the pressure is off. If not, well, as one of the team’s boosters tells Gaines, “Things won’t go well for you.” Despite the pressure, it’s obvious that Gaines and his boys really do love the game. If only people would leave them alone long enough so they could relax and enjoy the experience. Who knows? Perhaps they might even become a better team as a result.

The pressure to perform affects each character differently. Gaines is more disappointed than intimidated by the constant harassment and abuse. He seems to be operating from a set of inner convictions that few other characters in this film possess. Quarterback Mike Winchell is another story. Driven by a football-obsessed mother at home and a fan base that celebrates him one moment and then vilifies him the next, his every look and mannerism tells you he just can’t wait for this show to be over. Then there’s Boobie Miles, the NFL-bound star who blows his chance at the big-time for a shot at small-town glory. Finally, you have Don Billingsly. He’s so wound up most of the time due to his abusive, former State Champion father that he can’t even hold onto the football. Indeed, whatever dysfunctions are present in Odessa, they all manifest themselves in this football team in one way or another. And it’s all the players can do just to hold things together.

At one point, Coach Gaines senses Winchell is about to crack, so he decides it’s time for a little “man-to-man” with his quarterback. During their conversation, Coach Gaines tells Winchell that he is old enough by now to realize that sometimes life gives you the short end of the stick. The question is: What are we going to do about it? Will we allow it to define the rest of our lives, as some characters in this film do, or are we going to find some way to overcome it? For Gaines, it all comes down to where you find your identity. On what will you base your life? Winning? That didn’t work so well for people like Don Billingsly’s dad. When his team won State, he was the centre of everyone’s hopes and dreams. But when the season ended, he was faced with the glaring question: What do you do when the cheering stops? By the time we meet him, he is still trying to find a satisfactory answer to that problem, one that goes beyond self-medication, that is.

So if not winning, then what? Coach Gaines’s answer sounds frustrating at first: Perfection. By this, however, he does not mean flawlessness. To him, perfection means knowing that you did your best, knowing that there wasn’t one more thing you could have done to achieve your objective. It means having love and joy in your heart for your fellow players and your fellow man. For Gaines, true victory is a victory of character. It’s not whether you win or lose or even how you play the game. It’s about who you become as a result.

Interestingly, Jesus made a similar entreaty to his disciples: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). I’ve always found this verse somewhat frustrating as well. Who can be perfect? Doesn’t the mere attempt just lead to striving and guilt? But when you look at it the way Coach Gaines does, suddenly it makes “perfect” sense. Jesus isn’t saying that life—being human—is about being the best. It’s not even about performing "your own personal best." It’s about allowing the challenges you face to mold you into the best person you can be.

This is accomplished not through striving or guilt but by inviting God to manifest his perfect character through you during such circumstances. “We all dig our own holes,” says Gaines. If so, then perhaps yielding to this sort of perfection is the key to digging our way out.

The Forgotten by Kevin Miller

Without giving away too much, The Forgotten is about what happens when a mother who is grieving over her dead son suddenly discovers that all evidence of her son’s existence has disappeared—photos, newspaper reports, home videos, everything. At first, she suspects her husband and psychiatrist of perpetuating an elaborate hoax to help her overcome her grief. But when confronted, they tell her she never actually had a son, that her “memories” of him are a figment of her imagination. Unwilling to accept that she might be going crazy, she sets out on a wild, adrenaline-driven journey that eventually leads to an explanation far weirder than she could have ever imagined.

I would put this film into the same category as the recent sci-fi thriller Godsend. Take away the modern trappings, and both films could easily have served as episodes in the original Twilight Zone TV series. That would be a compliment were it still 1957. Unfortunately, the same plot devices that worked back then don’t really cut it today. Thus, even though both The Forgotten and Godsend still offer a lot of entertainment value, the films ultimately fail due to half-baked story development and endings that are so conventional you just wish the screenwriters had thought to give M. Night Shyamalan a call. That said; The Forgotten is definitely the superior of the two films. Not only are the premise and script more compelling, the overall look and feel of the film make it abundantly clear that director Joseph Ruben is ready to move on to bigger and better things.

The Forgotten effectively plays on a number of fears—fear of losing a child, fear of losing your mind, even fear of the government. But most of all, it plays on our fear that the ultimate power in the universe may not be good after all, that “God,” or whoever happens to be in charge, is merely toying with us in one grand, cosmic experiment. While the film does not offer any assurance that that isn’t the case, it does offer hope in the form of a familiar, four-letter word: L-O-V-E. And that is more than I can say about most episodes of The Twilight Zone.

Godsend by Kevin Miller

If Godsend had been made 50 years ago in black and white, it would be exactly the kind of thing I enjoy watching late on Saturday nights when there’s nothing else on TV. That’s because it’s full of the same campy plot devices and characters that make those old films so great—a mad scientist, a “monster” (the product of science gone wrong), non-stop “Don’t open that door!” suspense, and a musical score that’s always ready to jump up and scare you even if nothing else will. Like many sci-fi and horror films of the 1950s and 1960s, Godsend is also a cautionary tale, not so much about cloning—which is Godsend’s main subject—but about what happens when the power to do such “godlike” acts falls into the wrong hands. In an era where technology borders on the miraculous, this is truly a parable for our times.

However, viewers today are a lot more sophisticated than they were in the 1950s. They’re not as apt to buy in to the faulty premises and dubious science that make those old films so laughable today. The intermittent titters I heard emanating from the audience during scenes that were supposed to make them cover their eyes in horror was ample evidence of that. Unfortunately, such devices are exactly what the makers of this film expect us to take seriously. And it just doesn’t work.

That is not to say Godsend is completely without suspense. Similar to films like The Omen, The Shining, and Village of the Damned, this thriller gets most of its mileage out of “creepy kid shots”—close-ups of the child/clone Adam (played brilliantly by nine-year-old newcomer, and fellow Canadian, Cameron Bright) as he tries to sort out who or what is messing with his head. It also includes its fair share of “Gotcha!” moments that usually don’t amount to anything but still give viewers a healthy shot of adrenalin.

Godsend also raises some important questions about science, free will, and the conflict between moral choices and human ability. For example, at a high point in the film, Adam’s father (Greg Kinnear) confronts Dr. Wells (Robert DeNiro), who cloned Adam, with the gravity of what he has done. Dr. Wells defends himself, saying, “If I’m not supposed to do this, then why is it that I can?” Interestingly, this confrontation happens in a church. And when it’s over, the entire building goes up in flames, as if to signify that our ability to completely control the reproduction process through cloning means we won’t be needing God’s services anymore, thank you very much.

The problem is, Dr. Wells’ defense is essentially a copout. Just because we can do something doesn’t mean we should. I could go out and kill someone anytime I want, but does that make it right? Of course not. We can’t assume God condones such activities just because he doesn’t stop us from doing them. In addition to blessing us with tremendous abilities in science, technology, the arts, and so forth, God also gave us the power of reason and an inherent sense of right and wrong with which to regulate those abilities. Thus, it is up to us, not God, to decide what we should and should not do. God isn’t about to step in like an overprotective parent and make such decisions for us. If he did, how could we ever grow and mature? However, like a good parent, God does provide us with wisdom and guidance—if we are willing to listen to it. But in the end, how we use that information is up to us. God respects our powers of self-determination that much.

Adam’s parents, Paul and Jessie Duncan, are slightly more willing than Dr. Wells to face up to the moral consequences of their choices. However, like him, their ability to do so is clouded over by grief. Like a child whose pet has just died, Adam’s mother (Rebecca Romjin Stamos) cries that she doesn’t want another child; she wants Adam! And, like a child, her reasons are pretty much self-centered. She feels pain, and she believes getting “another” Adam will make that pain go away. But there’s something sick about the idea of parents who are willing to go to such lengths just to restore their peace of mind, to believe a lie so strongly that eventually they have difficulty discerning it from the truth. I felt incredibly sorry for “Adam 2” during most of this film. Not only was he battling for his soul as a result of a sinister interference in the cloning process, he also had to carry the emotional burden of two painfully needy adults whose real problem wasn’t so much the loss of their first son as their inability to face up to their own emotional deficits. Thankfully, the filmmakers had enough sense to show that such denial of the truth will jump up and bite us sooner or later.

At the same time, I am fairly certain that the choice the Duncans face in this film is one that many couples will be facing in the not-too-distant future. Films like this are useful when it comes to helping us think about how we would respond under identical circumstances. It may begin with pets. That is, perhaps little Jimmy really will be able to get his old dog back through the power of cloning. But let’s be honest: If the ability to clone humans does become widely available (as I suspect it will), do you really think we will be able to keep ourselves from opening this “Pandora’s Box”? Like the Duncans, I suspect many other grieving parents will be unable to resist the temptation to “replace” the child they lost rather than walk through the grieving process. And their judgment will be similarly clouded. I can’t help but think of the emotional and psychological consequences for these cloned children. Think of the identity crisis they will go through when they discover they are nothing more than a “replacement.” No matter how much their parents dote on them, they will know their parents don’t really love them; they merely love the memory of the child that was lost.

Early on in the film, Paul, who is a high school biology teacher, is considering a move from the tough inner-city school in which he works to a better paying job in the suburbs. He realizes it is a good opportunity for his family, but he feels such a strong loyalty to his students that taking the job would be akin to selling out. Jessie disagrees. She wants to move out to the suburbs, because she doesn’t like the thought of raising Adam in the city. In what is supposed to be a heartwarming scene, she tells Paul she respects his ethics, but when it comes to your children, sometimes ethics have to take a back seat. Yikes. Fortunately, the rest of this film is a powerful refutation of such fallacious moral reasoning.

Man on Fire by Kevin Miller

Following in the tradition of classics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dances With Wolves, The Last Samurai is yet another film that portrays a “white” soldier who finds his true calling and identity in the midst of a foreign culture. Predictably, this realization leads the hero—in this case, Captain Nathan Algren, an American civil war veteran who is haunted by his military past—to side with his new allies—the last remaining band of samurai—and lead them in a final, glorious revolt against the corrupt, oppressive culture Algren only recently served with such valour.

Not surprisingly, America is portrayed throughout the film as a seductive, corrupting force, undermining the ancient Japanese code of honor—bushido—in the pursuit of cold hard cash. This plays perfectly into the hands of Japanese industrialists who are eager to modernize their country and make a quick buck in the process.

The conflict between the old Japan and the new, Americanized version of the country is most poignant when Japanese businessman/minister Omura frantically orders his troops—freshly trained by American mercenaries—to pull out the “new machines” to stop an oncoming army of samurai. These new machines turn out to be hand-cranked Gatling guns (recent purchases from America) that are capable of firing 200 rounds per minute. Omura’s troops proceed to turn an entire battery of these guns on the samurai—who are armed only with swords and bows—mowing them down until not a single man remains. When it is all over, instead of celebrating their victory, Omura’s soldiers fall to their knees in a tearful tribute to Katsumoto, the leader of the samurai. Even Omura realizes that he and his troops have done more than squelch a small uprising of rebels that day. They’ve obliterated the core of their nation’s soul. And there’s no going back from here.

True to its genre, this film also romanticizes the samurai, depicting them as disciplined, enlightened people whose entire lives are based around the strict bushido code and martial arts training. Add in the fact that they live in a peaceful, remote mountain village, and it’s almost as if Capt. Algren has stumbled across paradise when they take him captive there. But lest we forget the dark shadow of death that lurks beneath this seemingly idyllic world, the filmmakers wisely place Capt. Algren in the home of a man he killed during his capture. There, Algren is forced to live with the dead man’s wife and two young sons for an entire winter. This shattered family serves as a constant reminder to both Algren and the viewer that those who live by the sword may also die by it; but it is those left behind who pay the ultimate price for the honor these strong men hold so dear.

The Last Samurai by Kevin Miller

Following in the tradition of classics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dances With Wolves, The Last Samurai is yet another film that portrays a “white” soldier who finds his true calling and identity in the midst of a foreign culture. Predictably, this realization leads the hero—in this case, Captain Nathan Algren, an American civil war veteran who is haunted by his military past—to side with his new allies—the last remaining band of samurai—and lead them in a final, glorious revolt against the corrupt, oppressive culture Algren only recently served with such valour.

Not surprisingly, America is portrayed throughout the film as a seductive, corrupting force, undermining the ancient Japanese code of honor—bushido—in the pursuit of cold hard cash. This plays perfectly into the hands of Japanese industrialists who are eager to modernize their country and make a quick buck in the process.

The conflict between the old Japan and the new, Americanized version of the country is most poignant when Japanese businessman/minister Omura frantically orders his troops—freshly trained by American mercenaries—to pull out the “new machines” to stop an oncoming army of samurai. These new machines turn out to be hand-cranked Gatling guns (recent purchases from America) that are capable of firing 200 rounds per minute. Omura’s troops proceed to turn an entire battery of these guns on the samurai—who are armed only with swords and bows—mowing them down until not a single man remains. When it is all over, instead of celebrating their victory, Omura’s soldiers fall to their knees in a tearful tribute to Katsumoto, the leader of the samurai. Even Omura realizes that he and his troops have done more than squelch a small uprising of rebels that day. They’ve obliterated the core of their nation’s soul. And there’s no going back from here.

True to its genre, this film also romanticizes the samurai, depicting them as disciplined, enlightened people whose entire lives are based around the strict bushido code and martial arts training. Add in the fact that they live in a peaceful, remote mountain village, and it’s almost as if Capt. Algren has stumbled across paradise when they take him captive there. But lest we forget the dark shadow of death that lurks beneath this seemingly idyllic world, the filmmakers wisely place Capt. Algren in the home of a man he killed during his capture. There, Algren is forced to live with the dead man’s wife and two young sons for an entire winter. This shattered family serves as a constant reminder to both Algren and the viewer that those who live by the sword may also die by it; but it is those left behind who pay the ultimate price for the honor these strong men hold so dear.

Gangs of New York by Kevin Miller

In Gangs of New York, veteran filmmaker Martin Scorsese does an impeccable job of recreating New York City circa 1846-1863, highlighting a bloody, little known period of American history. It was a time when the civil war, anti-immigration sentiment, political corruption, poverty and religious differences mixed together to create a simmering stew that eventually boiled over into the anti-draft riots that nearly destroyed the city in 1863. Unfortunately, the tale of revenge that Scorsese sets against this rich historical backdrop is depicted with such excessive brutality and gore that the historical value of his story is nearly drowned by the amount of blood spilled in the telling.

The film opens with a gruesome gang battle for control of “Five Points,” an impoverished area of lower Manhattan that was a flashpoint for tensions between, “Nativists”—Anglos and Dutch who were born in America—and Irish immigrants who were arriving by the boatload each day. When Amsterdam, the young son of the Irish gang leader, sees his father cut down by Bill “the Butcher” Cuttings, ruthless leader of the Natives, he vows to come back one day for revenge.

Sixteen years later, Amsterdam returns to find Bill still ruling the area. Keeping his identity a secret, Amsterdam gains Bill’s trust, becoming an adopted son of sorts, all the while waiting for the ideal time to fulfill his vow. But when Amsterdam finally does make his move, Bill manages to turn the tables. Barely escaping with his life, Amsterdam eventually manages to resurrect his father’s old gang and put a final challenge to Bill’s rule of Five Points.

Martin Scorsese has long been celebrated for his ability to document the sordid side of life in graphic detail. However, this film is so brutal that it forces one to ponder wonder when such graphic depiction of violence begins to harm rather than help a story. Gangs of New York is an exceptionally well-made film that raises many interesting issues. But that fact will matter little to those who aren’t willing to wade through a river of blood in order to appreciate what it is trying to say.

Bowling for Columbine by Kevin Miller

Although at times it is as sloppy as Michael Moore’s appearance, Bowling for Columbine deserves all the attention it has received; if only because for two chilling and often humorous hours, it forces viewers to ponder one very important question: Why are so many Americans shooting each other?

Moore’s search for answers takes him on a trek from his home state of Michigan to Littleton, Colorado, site of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. Along the way, Moore encounters a bizarre variety of characters, including: members of the infamous Michigan militia; James Nichols, wild-eyed older brother of Oklahoma City bomber Terry Nichols; NRA president Charlton Heston; and a Michigan teen who makes five-gallon drums of napalm in his spare time.

Moore also considers a number of arguments for America’s exceptionally high murder rate, including rock music, violent video games and movies, and the easy availability of guns. But none of these potential causal factors wholly explain the problem, because each factor is shared by most other Western countries, including Canada, which is depicted throughout the film (although not always accurately) as the “antithesis” of America.

It is not until Moore chats with none other than Marilyn Manson that he finds a potential answer. In a surprisingly eloquent speech, Manson states that the root of the problem is fear. Politicians, news organizations, and advertisers all strive to keep Americans in a perpetual state of fear. Why? “Because if you keep everyone afraid, they will consume.” And what do they consume? To quote Neo from The Matrix: “Guns—lots of guns.”

Moore’s attempt to flesh out this theory is powerful, largely because of the images he uses to support it, such as security camera footage from the Columbine massacre. But despite its emotional impact, his argument still rings hollow, because, among other things, it fails to account for several social factors that lead to violent crime. Nevertheless, it still beats the pathetic ramblings of Charlton Heston at the end of the film.

Bowling for Columbine does not score a strike, but it is definitely an earnest attempt to sort out a difficult problem. Perhaps it will inspire others more qualified to do the same.

The Passion of the Christ by Kevin Miller

To say this film has divided audiences—both Christian and non-Christian alike—is an understatement of biblical proportions. Like Jesus, the person whose final twelve hours on earth this movie portrays, The Passion of the Christ has been criticized from virtually every angle you can imagine. On one hand, it’s been condemned as anti-Semitic, obsessed with gore and blood, pro-Catholic to the point of distraction and historically inaccurate. Others have called it uplifting, inspiring and one of the most effective evangelistic tools ever made. This controversy is fitting, seeing as reactions to Jesus himself varied from those who wanted to crown him as king to those who wanted to execute him as a traitor and blasphemer. It’s no wonder this film has received similar treatment. But, as with Christ, the question remains: Whose version of the truth are we to believe?

Visually speaking, The Passion of the Christ ranks as perhaps the best “Jesus film” ever made. Featuring brilliant performances from its mostly unknown cast, superb cinematography, meticulous accurate costuming and set design, and a camera that refuses to waver even as chunks of flesh are torn from Christ’s body, this film succeeds in capturing the brutality of Jesus’ treatment at the hands of his Jewish and Roman captors like never before. Further enhancing the sense of realism is the fact that all dialogue is spoken in the original Aramaic, Jewish and Latin languages. If you’ve ever wondered what it would have been like to be there on location during Christ’s trial, torture and execution, this film is for you. But be warned: Everything you’ve heard about the violence is true—and then some. So please, please, leave the kids at home. I’m not one to whitewash the truth, but I wouldn’t take my children to a public execution either just so they could see what it was like.

Historical accuracy from a visual point of view is one thing. But remaining true to Jesus’ life from a factual point of view is quite another. In this case, The Passion of the Christ is a far cry from such “literal” retellings of Jesus’ life as The JESUS Film. Drawing from his own Catholic tradition as well as the writings of St. Anne Catherine Emmerich and St. Mary of Agreda, Gibson adds his fair share of literary and theological embellishments to the gospel accounts. For example, Satan (played by a woman, no less) keeps popping up at key moments in the film, as do a pack of child-like demons. Flashbacks to Jesus’ earlier life as a young child, as a “pre-ministry” adult and as leader of the disciples are also interwoven into the passion narrative. The film also includes such apocryphal scenes as Mary and Mary Magdalene mopping up Jesus’ blood after his flogging, the meeting between Jesus and St. Veronica on the way to Golgotha (one of the stations of the cross), the prolonged interaction between Jesus and Simon of Cyrene and the raven plucking out the thief’s eye after he question’s Jesus authority while hanging on the cross. Most viewers probably won’t notice such additions to the biblical accounts. But be prepared for questions afterward as people try to parse out what the Bible says versus fiction and/or Catholic tradition.

Perhaps because of Gibson’s Catholic background, this is also very cross-centered, gore-obsessed film. In this respect, the movie tends to spend an inordinate amount of time dwelling on the torture and crucifixion of Christ and very little time describing the purpose for his suffering or the glorious resurrection that followed. While many hail the torture sequence as an unflinching account of Jesus’ actual experience, the beating Jesus receives in this film is so brutal and prolonged it borders on the implausible. I’d really like to hear a physician’s opinion on the likelihood of anyone even surviving never mind remaining conscious and carrying his cross after receiving the sort of beating Jesus does in this film. I’d also like to hear a theologian’s opinion on the accuracy of this sequence, because, to my understanding, thirty-nine lashes were all that was allowed under Roman law. But in this film, Jesus got more like seventy times seven. Thus, at a certain point, it begins to feel like director Mel Gibson has mistaken the degree of suffering Jesus experienced as being more important than the identity of the person being punished. The way I see it, the emphasis of the gospels is not that Jesus suffered more than any person who ever lived but that Jesus was God and yet he willingly turned himself over to his creation and let them do with him as they wished. In no way do I want to downplay what Jesus went through, but I don’t think overstating the case does us any good either. And that’s exactly what I think Gibson does in this film.

Taken as one man’s interpretation of Christ, this film merits much discussion and debate. An entire book could be written on Gibson’s unique approach to this compelling story. Indeed, there’s already been as much ink spilled about this film as there was artificial blood in making it. So if all Gibson hoped to do was re-ignite public dialogue about the person and mission of Christ, he has already succeeded. And if he wanted to make a lot of money in the process, more power to him. He’s scored big on that front as well.

Beyond mere controversy or box office numbers, however, Gibson should also be congratulated on an artistic level. Not only has he remained true to his original vision throughout a storm of opposition, the final product is a powerful piece of religious cinema that will definitely stand the test of time. While in many cases the artistic license he has taken with the passion narrative serves to enhance the story, at times it also tends to muddy the waters. So if you want to get the straight goods on Jesus, I recommend you return to the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John in the Bible. Prepare to be surprised though: You just may discover a Jesus you never knew.

The Alamo by Kevin Miller

In making The Alamo, director John Lee Hancock faced a task similar to James Cameron when he made The Titanic. Both films are based on historical events where the outcome is certain. Thus, the challenge is not so much to surprise viewers as to depict characters and events as dramatically and as realistically as possible so when the end does come, we feel as if we’ve lived the adventure ourselves.

So how does Hancock score? Pretty well on some counts, not so good on others. This film gets high marks for costumes, sets, props, and battle sequences. If The Alamo were a painting, it would fall into the category of photo-realism. And it would earn top dollar.

Hancock wins bonus points for presenting a fairly balanced depiction of the conflict. Instead of painting the “Texians” as heroes and the Mexicans as bad guys, he makes it clear that each side had only its self-interest in mind, and both were willing to kill for it. What made the Texians different was that they were fighting for liberty—even though their gaining liberty meant depriving others of the same. Then again, I guess you could say the same thing about the Mexicans…

On a character level, the Mexican General Santa Anna definitely comes off as the villain here. But, this being an attempt at revisionist history, he isn’t the only one with his warts on display. When we first meet Colonel William Travis, the young officer charged with defense of the Alamo, he’s signing the papers that will allow him to abandon his pregnant wife and two children. The reason? He’d rather have a few days of glory in Texas than a lifetime without a “name.” It’s hard to believe we’ll care when this guy bites it. But we do, if only because of how much his death will devastate his son.

It is a little more difficult to care about James Bowie, famed knife-fighter. That’s no slam against Jason Patric who portrays him. It’s just that after resolving a leadership dispute with Travis, Bowie basically retires to his deathbed for the remainder of the film. In addition to tuberculosis, I got the sense Bowie’s character also fell victim to the slash and burn editing process this film was forced to undergo between its original release date of December 2003 and today.

Our greatest sympathies go to Davy Crockett, played with a delicate mixture of bravado and introspection by Billy Bob Thornton. Crockett arrived at the Alamo not even realizing a war was going on. He just wanted the 640 free acres of land promised to anyone who signed up for the Texas militia. The burden of Crockett’s celebrity also weighs heavily upon him. Not only does this make it impossible for Crockett to flee when the opportunity arises (What would people think?), his presence inspires the other men to glorify the position they find themselves in. But Crockett knows all they have to look forward to is killing and death. Glory may come, but they won’t be around to experience it. He tries to tell them the truth, but the men merely clamor for the fictional version of his life.

Despite these engaging character studies, this film ultimately fails from a structural point of view. By presenting the fall of the Alamo as one long flashback book-ended by General Sam Houston’s response, the pacing just doesn’t work. It’s anti-climactic, slow to get going, and far longer than it needs to be. One gets the sense that the footage was there, but things never really came together in the editing room. Perhaps they spent too much time working on it.

As one might expect in a story that takes place in a Spanish Catholic mission, the cross is an ever-present icon in this film. We first encounter it at night when Bowie leads a small scouting party through a graveyard of crooked wooden crosses just outside the Alamo. Later, a crucifix hangs over Bowie’s deathbed as a Mexican folk healer makes the sign of the cross over him with an egg and then cracks it into a glass of water. A cross-shaped window also lights Bowie’s room. From time to time, we even view the action outside through this glowing symbol. But never once does Bowie acknowledge it or his need for a savior. Though barely conscious, his attention remains fixed solely on protecting his self-interest, to the point where his last act is to kill those who would deprive him of his final hours of life.

Perhaps that is the problem with everyone in this film, “Texians” and Mexicans alike: They’re all looking out for number one. The Texas Rebellion, of which the battle for the Alamo was but a part, was led by Americans who had recently broken away from the British Empire. Now they wanted to gain independence from Mexico, which had recently won independence from Spain. But there was no way Mexico’s Santa Anna was about to extend the same freedoms his own people had just obtained. For, in a moment of prescience, he states, “If we lose this war, we will forever be begging crumbs from the Americans’ table.” Seems he understood the stakes perfectly well. The question is: Where does the battle for independence end? And at what point does the number of lives lost negate the freedoms gained?

There is no question the defenders of the Alamo were in a dire situation. But as the cross kept reappearing in this film, I couldn’t get over the fact that the solution to this conflict was right in front of them, and yet no one was able to see it. They came close though. During what is perhaps the film’s most poignant scene, Crockett plays his fiddle to accompany a song the Mexican army plays every night before shelling the Alamo. The Mexicans are so touched by the gesture they forego the attack for that night. “It’s amazing what a little harmony can do,” Crockett remarks afterwards. Indeed. For a moment, both sides seem to discover the common bond of humanity that unites them. They may be at war, but they are all fighting for the same basic principles: freedom, dignity, and the chance to create a better life for their families. Perhaps if they had looked to the cross—to Christ—they would have realized this, set aside their arms, and worked out a more creative solution to their conflict. In a world where violence only begets more violence—both at home and overseas—it would behoove us all to do the same.

In America by Kevin Miller

In a film full of great moments, it is difficult to choose one that defines what In America is all about. Perhaps the most poignant is a scene where eleven-year-old Christy Sullivan sings the Eagles’ song “Desperado” at her school talent show. As she delivers her angelic rendition of that classic tune, her father, Johnny, zooms his camcorder in on her face during the closing verse: “Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences; open the gate. It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you.
You better let somebody love you; let somebody love you. You better let somebody love you, before it's too late.”

Although Johnny doesn’t realize it at the time, this is exactly what he needs to do if he ever hopes to find peace: allow someone (namely, his family) to love him. But before this can happen, he will have to let go of the pain and grief over his son Frankie’s death. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done.

Johnny isn’t the only one who needs to deal with his grief. The entire Sullivan family—Frankie, his wife Sarah and their two daughters—has been stuck in a state of denial for the past year. Seeking to escape their anguish, they sneak across the Canada-US border and attempt to build a new life for themselves in a run-down apartment in the Hell’s Kitchen area of New York City. Struggling against poverty, limited career opportunities (Johnny is an aspiring actor), and the stigma of being “different,” the Sullivan’s try valiantly to squeeze the last few drops of juice from the shriveled up lemons they’ve been given. However, faking it can only get you so far. Sooner or later, they will have to face up to the issues that have haunted them all the way from Ireland to the Big Apple. For if they don’t, they risk becoming nothing more than hollow shells, ghosts that merely haunt the earth for the rest of their days.

The Sullivan’s unlikely ally in this struggle is Mateo; also known as “the man who screams.” A struggling African-American artist, Mateo is battling his own demons in the dark reaches of his apartment below. Despite his hard exterior, the precocious Sullivan girls win him over when they tell him about Frankie’s death. This begins Mateo’s tumultuous incorporation into the Sullivan family, wherein he acts as a catalyst to thaw out their frozen emotions. This experience also helps Mateo overcome his own misery.

Despite these positive developments, death continues to plague the Sullivan’s every step. Even when Sarah becomes pregnant with another child, there is a risk that one or both of them won’t survive the delivery. And then Mateo is hospitalized with advanced HIV/AIDS. One gets the sense that the only way death will leave is if someone—namely Johnny—finally turns around to face it. But can he? And if he does, will anything really change? You’ll have to watch the movie to find out. But I can tell you that seeing as the film is told from a child’s perspective, there’s plenty of room for magic and miracles just when you think all hope is lost.

In the end, we realize that Johnny’s journey is really our journey—or perhaps the journey of all humankind. All of us are packing a world of hurt on our shoulders, struggling like the mythological Atlas to find some place where we can lay our burden to rest. However, having carried it for so long, we are often loath to let it go. As painful as it may be, we’re afraid of what life will be like without it. We’ve lost hope, unable to believe things could ever again be as they were. Tragically, this reluctance to embrace change is precisely what prevents us from receiving the only thing that can offer a permanent solution to our pain: love. Love from others and, ultimately, love from God. Thus, like Johnny, if we ever hope to find that all-elusive peace, we also need to come to our senses, come down from our fences and open the gate. We need to let someone love us before it’s too late.