Final Destination 3 - Out of Control

One of the first images that greets us in James Wong and Glen Morgan's third "Final"(?) installment is a merry-go-round... a three-fold metaphor for the franchise, the plot, and the very nature of scary movies. In a movie most will undoubtedly dismiss as vapid, I think that these two former X-Files writers have more depth than some might surmise. From a franchise perspective, the painted, circling horses beckon "get on; here we go again". Even the plot of the film hinges on the fact that its characters, once "missed" by death, are caught in an inevitable cycle as their terrible fate swings round again. (And again.)

During a senior high school party at the local fair, student Wendy Christensen has a horrible vision of a roller coaster accident; her subsequent outburst gets her, and several other classmates, ejected from the ride. When the inevitable accident follows, those who were "saved" by Wendy's vision begin to die in the order they would have perished on the ride... much like what transpired to the survivors of Flight 180 in the original film. Can Wendy and her fellow schoolmates cheat death, or will it inexorably catch up with them?

There is a direct correlation between these types of scary movies and why people get on carnival rides to feel control taken out of their hands: turning, spinning and coasting our way along as grinding gears speed us toward an inevitable end. This film's opening montage moves from merry-go-round to roller coaster, as the film visually depicts exactly what it's trying to be. Film critics will typically disparage a film like FD3, then take their family to Universal Studios or Six Flags the next weekend, enjoying the thrill rides perhaps more than their children. There is a bias here, perhaps, about what the medium of film can convey. Not every movie has to be as deep as Golden Pond, or take you to the emotional heights of Brokeback Mountain. I love a good expensive steak, but sometimes I like a burger. Sometimes I enjoy a bite of beef jerky. Sometimes even I can—gasp!—eat vegetarian. One needn't lower one's expectations for a film like Final Destination 3; one just needs to know what one is ordering.

Much like the first installment of this series, Final Destination 3 is a killer movie. The second film paced itself poorly, opening with a breathtaking sequence that outshone the rest of the film, leaving the viewer nonplussed. This installment lacks the seeming freshness that accompanied the original, but serves as a welcome supplement for those who loved the original. The only cheesy opportunity missed is that it's the third film, and opens with a roller coaster; come on, gentlemen, this really should have been Final Destination 3-D.

This movie is not about horror. It's about being scared (there is a difference). It's cat-jumping-out-of-the-cupboard scared, roller-coaster scared. My wife is one of these cats who loves the roller coaster because, for a few precious, adrenalizing minutes, she thinks her number might just be up. "Game over man, game over!" When the coaster docks a few minutes later, she has successfully confronted her own mortality and rests in the precious security that she's still alive. Thrill-seeking—be it sky-diving, fast cars, video games, a safari trip, crossing the Alps—affords us a personal moment of peril, followed by the comfort that we're left unscathed.

What's even MORE unnerving about the FD series, setting it apart from the Freddys, Jasons and Michael Myers of the slasher world, is that there is no person to "run" from. There is no brooding freak in a mask or joking bad boy with blades to beg, reason with, or to drop in a pit and/or light on fire. More resolute than The Terminator, this impersonal, destined but accidental death encroaching on the characters in these films cannot be seen, and typically comes in the embarrasing form of simple, everyday mistakes. It's America's Funniest Fatal Home Videos—and much the same reason we're obsessed with the baseball in the crotch.

I was rewiring my office light switch yesterday and knew there were other people in the house. What simple miscommunication, and the single flip of a breaker, stood between my handy hubris and human toast? When I'm up on a ladder cleaning my gutters, I get a horrible image of losing balance and breaking my neck because of a handful of leaves. We know life is fragile, and a cinematic ride like this is the equivalent of driving past an accident and thanking your lucky stars that the drunk driver didn't hit you. Even those bad Driver's Ed videos about leadfoots and inattentive drivers serve a similar purpose.

The central issue in Final Destination 3 is not death, but control. Wendy states—and reiterates several times—that she doesn't like to feel out of control. I think we identify with Wendy; we want our death to be in our hands, on our terms; we ultimately like to delude ourselves that we have power over our own life. We wrestle not only with the idea that we are mortal and ultimately powerless to change this, but that there may be a fate, a design, and a Designer that we can't escape.

King Solomon lamented in Ecclesiastes that "death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart." He also states in Proverbs that "a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps." Even in the book of Job, the title character laments to God that "Man's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed." A reviewer in Entertainment Weekly makes an assumption that the "unseen force" in the FD movies is "the devil." I can't be sure what writers Wong and Morgan are driving at—other than quick thrills—but it seems their unseen force is less about malevolence and more about putting things in proper order. Why would someone automatically assume the agent of death is the devil? The real question is... who HAS final authority over our death, and our final destination?

If we fear death, of course, this movie presents a truly frightful prospect. Even the title implies this life is all there is, and that our "final destination" is the grave. Trip over the hidden wire, upset the wrong apple cart, and you're worm food. Personally, I don't fear death; it might not be a pleasurable moment (or slow decline), but Jesus scoffed at people like you and me as we watch movies like this, feeling our hair stands on end, and I try to see life through His eyes. "I tell you, my friends," he asserts, "do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him."

Yeah, leave it to Jesus to put things in perspective. How or when I die—no matter how awkward, gory or downright inconvenient—is really not the issue I should be freaking out about. Frightened high schoolers trying to sidestep the Grim Reaper, just so they can die later cooped up in a nursing home, might pause a moment to think past the death knell to what comes after their final breath.

Memoirs of a Geisha, or Journal of a Call Girl?

Two girls are sold into slavery; one is sent directly to the brothel, but young Chiyo is placed in a house and destined to become “Geisha.� What is a geisha, you ask? Rob Marshall‘s film unpacks this slowly. The director of Chicago gives us a stylized version of geisha life that seems one part Japanese Cinderella, one part Showgirls, and one part salvation… at least, until you step away from the PG-13 narrative and think about it.

Blue-eyed Chiyo is a servant in the geisha house and perceived as a threat by the house favorite, Hatsumomo, though the young girl has no desire to be a geisha and simply wants to find her sister and escape. This is not to be, and she is beaten and oppressed in a world with no choices or freedom. When a wealthy Chairman surrounded by geisha shows the little girl one of the few acts of kindness she’s ever received, she decides to become geisha so that she might have the affection of a gentleman like him. An oddly reserved cat-fight begins as Chiyo struggles to become geisha, which seems to be the western equivalent of a highly-paid escort/entertainer. She receives help from another house geisha, Mameha (Michelle Yeoh), whose goal seems to be using the young girl to strategically take down the mean-spirited Hatsumomo and put Chiyo in place to inherit the house.

Chiyo (Zhang Ziyi) rises to become the most famous geisha in Japan and takes the new name Sayuri. She even enters the world of her beloved Chairman (Ken Watanabe)… but finds herself reluctantly on the arm of the friend to which he owes his life. The advent of World War II disrupts her plan further; there is no time or place for geisha in tumultuous times and she works in a small village, separated from the man she desires to love. After the war, it seems everything she does backfires… but in the end she realizes that the Chairman has been, in a strange fatherly/romantic fashion, guiding events since they first met to raise her up, give her a better life, make her his own and take care of her. It’s almost a beautiful portrait of the Christian narrative—God’s love for us, freeing us from bondage into which we’re born&mdashuntil you step out of the confines of the film and look at the culture and role of the geisha. Throw all the kimono and silk you want over it, “geishaâ€� is still a synonym for “prostitute.â€�

“We sell our skills, not our bodies,� Mameha tells Sayuri, “the very word ‘geisha’ means ‘artist’�… (except, of course, when Sayuri’s virginity is auctioned off to the highest bidder, a geisha tradition which plays a pivotal role in the film). Artistry, more money, and less frequency doesn’t mean you’re not a whore. Even the happy ending, pairing her with a man who will take care of her exclusively, cannot hide the fact that the princely, charming man in question is married with children. There is something lackluster about this film that many have ascribed to the screenplay, or the direction... but I fear it is the very subject matter which presents the problem.

Within the fantasy framework of the film, one can enjoy this tale of suffering, endurance, and liberation. Still, though the movie takes great pains to paint a portrait and keep us from looking past the edges of the canvas… it ultimately fails. Director Rob Marshall’s film is beautiful and endearing, but ultimately fails to have narrative sustenance.

The Ponderous Ponderosa of Brokeback Mountain

I saw it, and I’m not gay. I know that a strange contingent of the Christian community seems to think that by the mere watching of a film like Brokeback Mountain, with its “communist propaganda� and “homosexual agenda� a straight guy might develop a queer eye, but nothing could be further from the truth. Actually, when I dutifully went to see Brokeback Mountain two weeks ago it was sold out. I could have chalked up the red flag to divine providence, but I had also tried to see The Ringer and met the same rebuff. Since I didn’t want to believe God was overruling my desire to see the comedic star of Jackass fix the special Olympics, I couldn’t justify skipping Ang Lee’s controversial film that may well win Best Picture or Best Actor this year at the Academy Awards.

Brokeback Mountain focuses on Ennis Del Mar, played by Heath Ledger, a tight-lipped redneck ranch hand in the 1960s looking for any work he can get. He and a stranger named Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal) spend an isolated summer on the cold mountain the film is named for, and we discover almost immediately that Jack and his father have apparently never gotten along, and Ennis’ mother and father passed away when he was young (he was raised by a brother, but now feels abandoned). Both men have glaring problems with fatherly and male affection. Moreover, for Ennis summer’s end will bring marriage and responsibilities of husband and future father, which—considering his upbringing—weigh uncomfortably on the young man.

Drinking themselves into a stupor, the two frustrated men eventually engage in a homosexual tryst. Jack seems more comfortable with this, whereas Ennis is initially resistant. The next morning it’s just both of them and the lonely mountain… with seemingly no consequences. The relationship continues as they play like boys during the day, shirk their responsibilities, and play lovers at night. The mountain becomes an oasis from the reality below, with responsibilities and expectations ahead. Called down a month early, Ennis is robbed of any chance for conversation or closure.

Both men marry and have children, but Ennis is a self-centered bigot and a drunk who can’t make ends meet; providing for his family irritates him and he pines for the carefree time he spent with Jack and the intimacy that came more easily. When Twist visits, they abscond to the mountains for “fishing trips�, seeking to recreate their oasis. Over the years, Jack tries to talk Ennis into leaving wife and children, but Ennis wrestles with varied fears and guilt around what he is doing, what that “makes� him, what others will think or do to them, and more.

Eventually, Ennis’ decisions cost him his marriage and leave his life in ruin, because he ultimately can’t commit to anything: his job, his wife, his kids, or his homosexual lover on the side. The film ends in a rather pitiful tragedy with very little hope for Ennis, living in a trailer with his regret and only a small hope that perhaps he’ll finally invest in the life of his adult daughter.

What’s unique about this film is that it does little to assign blame; director Ang Lee has done a masterful job displaying damaged people in a flawed culture who live confused lives. A viewer may assign the blame to culture, Jack, Ennis, adultery, genetics, upbringing, or any number of combined factors. They’ll likely lay the blame according to whatever worldview they walk in with. Some might paint the abusive, drunken Ennis Del Mar as a victim of a culture that would never accept him. Others might point out that this explanation doesn’t justify lies, deceit, adultery, marriage to a woman he won’t love, and horrible parenting. Almost all of Lee’s films (Sense and Sensibility, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, even The Hulk) carry an undercurrent regarding life— that it is something laborious that must be endured with great patience, if it can be endured at all. The filmmaker vividly captures King Solomon’s Ecclesiastical lament, that life is burdensome and wearying and ultimately meaningless. This film depicts a particularly ponderous ponderosa, and Ennis Del Mar is crushed under its weight.

Ultimately, this film portrays the consequences of adultery and an over-idealized tryst. We don’t know what might have happened if Ennis Del Mar had been able to live Jack’s dream of an openly homosexual life. Pinning his demeanor and behavior on that restriction is a big assumption; he might have been an equally ornery, abusive drunk with his male lover once reality set in. The problem with both men—also established early in the film— is not merely that they lacked strong or admirable father figures, but that they don’t know anything about God, and ultimately nothing about love, purpose, direction, or being men, seeking to avoid the rigors and roles of a man and perpetually making life harder for each other, stewing in a poisonous combination of pride, bitterness, lust and self-loathing. Despite claims that this film in some way promotes some homosexual agenda, Brokeback Mountain does not give us well-balanced gay men oppressed by a conservative culture; it depicts damaged and conflicted men trying to mitigate the pain and void in their lives, with unsatisfactory results.