Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

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.

Cold Mountain by Kevin Miller

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as depressed walking out of a movie theatre as I did after viewing this film. Not only did it feature one of the most horrifying civil war scenes ever filmed, it also—unwittingly, I think—conveyed such a strong sense of hopelessness regarding humanity’s predilection toward violence that, for a moment, it made me seriously question whether or not there really is any good thing deep in the heart of man.

This film is supposed to be a love story between a simple carpenter named Inman and an upscale southern belle named Ada, with whom he has a passing romance prior to being drafted into the Confederate army. After months on the battlefield, Inman is seriously wounded in a daring night raid. While in the hospital, he receives a letter from Ada—who is now hundreds of miles away—begging him to leave the war and return to her. Totally unequipped for life outside of the city, Ada is struggling to survive in the small town of Cold Mountain, South Carolina after her father dies of a heart attack. With the help of a young female drifter, Ada is able to make ends meet—barely. But she also has her hands full fending off the advances of the Confederate Home Guard, a self-appointed group of thugs who hunt down and kill any able-bodied men they find, presuming them to be deserters.

Once Inman is strong enough to leave the hospital, he acquiesces to Ada’s wishes and walks away from his unit, beginning a long and perilous journey home that many have referred to as an interpretation of Homer’s Odyssey. Like Odysseus, Inman meets all manner of strange characters along the way, some of whom help him along the journey and others who continue to manifest the brutality Inman encountered on the battlefield. He also encounters some of the victims of war, most poignantly in the form of a single mother and her sickly baby who live at the mercy of marauding soldiers. What’s remarkable is how quickly such victims take up the gun once the opportunity affords itself, proving once again how easily the abused can become the abuser.

It’s inevitable in such a story that Inman will finally make it home to his beloved. But from the beginning, there’s been a dark pall hanging over this reunion, taking the form of a vision Ada had in which Inman is stumbling along a mountain path surrounded by crows. Thus, after a brief, passionate reunion, the film moves into its final, unavoidable sequence: a showdown between the hero and the evil men who have been threatening his love.

While this film attempts to use the love story as a way of infusing hope into this otherwise dark tale, whatever redeeming power this thinly sketched relationship has is completely lost amid a blood-stained depiction of a period of American history that is best described by political philosopher Thomas Hobbes as ”an existence of continual fear and danger of violent death… solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” This movie offers virtually no hope to its characters, except perhaps a quick and painless death. But considering the villains that stalk the frames of this film, such an act of mercy is far from likely.

Cold Mountain is a graphic reminder that although Americans love to think of themselves as a peaceful people, the reality is, the foundations of their nation are slaked in blood. Whether you consider the Civil War this film depicts, the conquest of Texas (a blatant land grab from Mexico that is about to be romanticized in The Alamo), the colonization of Hawaii, the Vietnam War or, most recently, America’s invasion of Iraq, at every stage of its development, America has consistently resorted to violence as a way of solving its problems and reaching its goals. They’re supposed to be the good guys, “one nation under God.” But how can that be true when the methods they use to achieve their ends are virtually indistinguishable from those of their enemies? They’re more efficient, maybe, but no less brutal. Like the hero in this film, they may overcome the bad guys in the end. But as they stand over their vanquished foes, smoking gun in hand, they can’t escape the fact that now they have also become murderers. And if their means are no different than those of the people they oppose, doesn’t this call their goals into question as well? 

In addition to offering a critique of America, this film also caused me to look deep inside my own heart to see if, given the right conditions, even I could be reduced to the type of behavior depicted in this film. Surely not, I objected. That sort of thing is so uncivilized, so barbaric. Surely we’re beyond that kind of brutality by now.

But then I began to consider that the Civil War—the bloodiest in America’s history—was fought by ordinary men. They weren’t trained killers or murderers; at least they didn’t start out that way. They were farmers, carpenters, and blacksmiths, ordinary people. I also began to think about the many atrocities we read about or hear about on the news each day, also committed largely by “ordinary people,” and I realized we aren’t beyond this sort of behavior at all. In fact, since the Civil War, all we’ve done is refine our ability to kill and maim the enemy, making it as efficient—and sanitary—as possible. So, to be honest, take away the constraints of faith and society under which we all live, and I doubt even the best of us would be distinguishable from the thugs portrayed in this film. But still more frightening is to think that even within the bounds of faith and society, we still engage in systematic “push-button” mass murder that is celebrated in presidential cabinets and pulpits alike.

So if all of us, given the right conditions, are prone to acts of violence, seeking to end violence through violence is never going to work. That’s because if such evil lurks in the heart of every person, then it can only be truly eliminated when every person is dead, including me—including you. No, the only way I see of escaping our inclination toward destruction of self and others is by laying down our weapons, submitting to God, and refusing to fight fire with fire. In God, we have the ultimate example of how to deal with our enemies; not by overcoming them with superior weaponry—as God, the ultimate “superpower,” could easily have done with us—but by overcoming evil with good (Romans 12:21). As the Apostle Paul also says in Romans, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). That’s right, while we were God’s enemies, all he could think about was how to end the war we had started, how to reconcile himself to his children. Thus, instead of fighting us, he chose to sacrifice the life of his own Son instead, thus bridging the uncrossable chasm between humanity and God—a chasm we created through our own disobedience. If this act of reconciliation is the foundation of our faith, can we really call ourselves Christians if we do anything less for our enemies? I think not, for only by loving our enemies do we begin to resemble our Heavenly Father. And only those whom our Father recognizes as his own children will be granted the honor and joy of spending eternity with him (Matthew 7:21–23).

I hope more people, Christians and otherwise, catch on to this reality, because I can’t think of anything worse than having to live in “continual fear and danger of a violent death” as the characters do in this film—except perhaps to spend eternity spent in this state. And I can’t think of any way to avoid such a fate except by following God’s example.

The Manchurian Candidate by Kevin Miller

Could there be a more appropriate time for a film like this? Released one month after Fahrenheit 9/11 with conspiracy theories about George W. Bush—“the Arabian candidate,” as he has been called—running at an all-time high, The Manchurian Candidate is a masterpiece of cinematic timing. Thankfully, it is also a great movie. Based on the 1962 classic starring Frank Sinatra, this remake retains all of the suspense of the original but updates the context so that it has that ring of truth that makes you believe something like this really could happen—almost.

It all begins with Captain Bennett Marco, a Gulf War vet who cannot seem to leave the war behind. Diagnosed with “Gulf War syndrome” and “post-traumatic stress disorder,” Marco has been relegated to giving speeches to Boy Scout troops about the Congressional Medal of Honor. At the same time, he is plagued by a recurring dream full of horrific images. When he meets up with an old war buddy who is suffering from exactly the same affliction, Marco begins to suspect that maybe he is not crazy. Perhaps the dream is reality, and what he has always been led to believe about his tour of duty in Kuwait is nothing more than a fabrication, a memory implanted in his mind by an unknown entity for unknown reasons.

When the body of Marco’s war buddy turns up in the river, he is even more certain a conspiracy is underfoot. Desperate for answers, Marco seeks out the only other surviving member of his platoon: Raymond Prentiss Shaw, who was decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor for saving Marco and his platoon when they were ambushed in Kuwait. Shaw is currently on a fast track to the White House, thanks to his pit bull mother, and is not interested in Marco or his theories at first. But when Shaw begins to have nightmares as well, he realizes Marco may be on to something.

Meanwhile, Marco has discovered some nefarious connections between what he “remembers” about the brainwashing experience in the Gulf and one of Shaw’s largest campaign sponsors: Manchurian Global. He comes to believe that Manchurian has somehow preprogrammed Shaw to be a “sleeper” in the White House, a pawn that they can activate at will. Marco has no idea what Manchurian is up to, but he is not about to wait around and find out. However, just as Marco is about to make his move, another dimension of Manchurian’s conspiracy is revealed, placing Marco and his plans in jeopardy.

I will not reveal anything further about the film save this: Hollywood has been pumping out some smart thrillers lately, and The Manchurian Candidate is one of them. While the premise of this film is more fun than feasible, the idea that big business wields tremendous clout in Washington is far too real to ignore. Power and money go hand-in-hand—you can’t have one without the other. And this film paints a grim picture of what happens when money and blind ambition get in the way of the common good—or, worse, what happens when people in power begin to believe that their money and their ambition are the common good. Rather than encourage conspiracy theories of this ilk, however, The Manchurian Candidate is more like a classic, sci-fi cautionary tale, a parable rather than a docudrama. In this sense, I think it does far more than Fahrenheit 9/11—a purportedly non-fiction film—will ever do to raise awareness about what is really going on in the world.

Then again, perhaps I am just not paranoid enough…