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.
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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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