Reviews by James Harleman

A Scanner, Enjoyably

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Fri, 07 Jul 2006 22:34:00 +0000

"A Scanner, Darkly"
Review by James Harleman

Rated R

Directed by
Richard Linklater

Starring
Keanu Reeves
Winona Ryder
Robert Downey Jr.
Woody Harrelson

“This is a world getting progressively worse. Can we not agree on that?”

Robert Downey Jr. has perhaps the best line in the film, and the character that gets to have the most fun in this solid film by Richard Linklater. The director of “Dazed and Confused” and “School of Rock” (let’s forget the Bad News Bears remake) plays to his strengths in a film portraying slackers and drug addicts, this time set in a “future” much like our present. Linklater manages to faithfully adapt the difficult writings of prescient author Philip K. Dick to the big screen, as well as employing the cel-shading animation device over live actors that garnered praise in “Waking Life”. Telling a story that literally happens around the shell-shocked and listless character played by Keanu Reeves (perhaps playing to this actors “strength” as well), Linklater explores the notions of subjective perception and the reliability of our minds in correspondence with reality. This tale of drug addiction, mental dysfunction, disconnection and duality is a solid story that resonates with today’s fear of big corporation, big government, and a medicated populace without declaring itself liberal or conservative. Any simple solution or judgment regarding the issues explored in the film remains as muddy as the mind of our protagonist.

In a nation where an estimated 20% of the population is addicted to the drug Substance-D, harsh solutions have emerged; a war on terror is being fought abroad to quell the supply, while undercover cops try to catch those dealing and creating the demand. Civil liberties have been removed as new monitoring and surveillance techniques have been approved. The undercover cops where special “scramble suits” when not undercover that keep their identities secret and safe. Officers aren’t even allowed to know each other, which complicates matters when Arctur – known as “Fred” by his police superior – is assigned to monitor… himself.

Things get even more confusing as we realize Arctur has become addicted to Substance-D alongside his pill-popping friends Barris (Downey Jr.), Fleck (Cochrane) and Luckman (Woody Harrelson, also playing to his strengths). His purported goal is to use girlfriend/dealer Monica (Ryder) to get up the drug chain up to a big-time substance-D distributor… yet he seems equally desirous to get up Monica’s skirt, and seems uncertain which role – drug dealer or police officer – is truly his cover. Subjected to tests by the precinct that reveal his tenuous grasp on reality (yet fail to wisely remove him from duty) one begins to wonder what is really going on. Perhaps neither identity is real, and something else is going on entirely. And what of New Path, the benevolent corporation that helps D-users get off the substance, and perhaps the only facilities left in the nation curiously NOT subject to surveillance?

Linklater could easily have played heavy-handed (left-handed) with this film and had a tirade against big government as evil. Certain characters indeed rail about the government, but it doesn’t feel as though the author is preaching through them. It’s a refreshing change. He could have played emotional heart-strings and made us empathize with drug-users beset on all sides and victims of circumstance, or perhaps depicted free individuals that deserve the right to their addictions. Instead, they just seem pathetic and paranoid, and at times quite laughable, but in that way where you’d feel terribly guilty chuckling at them in real life. What we have instead with “Darkly” is a world of compromised government, compromised society and compromised individuals who not only question their judgment in both general sense but in specific instances that might serve the greater good yet hurt the individual. It’s a harsh trade. When the true plot is grasped at film’s end, we feel some pity for Arctur but for different reasons than we may have expected.

“What does a scanner see? Into the head? Into the heart? Does it see into me? Clearly? Or darkly?”

Arctur muses about the both the power and limitation of perception, effectively mirroring this story’s original author and his struggles not only with sanity and reason, but with objectivity and the divine. At one point, the tormented writer told Charles Platt that “I experienced an invasion of my mind by a transcendentally rational mind, as if I had been insane all my life and suddenly I had become sane." The cel-shaded animation in Linklater’s film – though occasionally distracting – helps emphasize the surreal nature of the world these characters perceive. There may be an objective reality, but layers of distortion and color obscure complete understanding of it. I think the director may have given us an effective look through the eyes of Philip K. Dick and, more importantly, ourselves. This is not an award winning film, but it is provocative and useful for contemplation and conversation.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. – 1 Corinthians 13:12

Philip K. Dick spent years questioning the nature of reality and a connection to something transcendent that he thought might have been God. I don’t know Dick’s heart or how he ended, but at some point he glimpsed a fundamental truth in that we are subjective creatures dependent upon the objective direction of our Creator. We cannot know absolute truth or reality apart from God, and it is not simply an informational transaction of “knowing” but rather being known BY God in a lasting relationship. This is the relationship promised in Jesus, illustrated by Paul in the quote above. As Keanu Reeves character stares into a mirror and wonders who he really is, I recalled another verse written by Jesus’ brother and my namesake:

Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does.
– James 1:23-25

Are we being scanned? Are we being judged? Whether or not our government is wire-tapping our phones and reading our mail, a higher question remains if there is something above even these. Is there anything that can bring light to people who see darkly? Can something see into us? Into our hearts? Can something shed light on our identity and bring us definition and meaning and purpose and life? “A Scanner” ends darkly, yet with a glimmer of hope.

X-Men: The Last Stand has legs

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Thu, 25 May 2006 08:32:00 +0000

When a “cure” for the mutant gene is announced by a corporation working with the government, the militant Magneto rallies his mutant brotherhood for a decisive strike against homo-sapien humanity. Charles Xavier and his school of X-Men prepare to respond in kind… but the return of a former teammate, thought to be dead, upsets everyone’s plans, as the nearly limitless Jean Grey may pose the greatest threat to mutants and humans alike. A heavy toll will be exacted, lives will be lost, and the greatest sacrifice will be made as the X-Men take The Last Stand.

The $#!+ hits the Fan
“Juggernaut shouldn’t have been affected by the boy at all! His powers are mystically derived!” I nearly collapsed from laughter and tumbled down the escalator as this nasally fan whined in front of me. The inevitable geek-bleat had begun. Large bellies had begun to ache. Okay, never mind the fact that I also know that—technically—Cain Marco got his powers from the gem of Cyttorak, or that technically he’s Xavier’s step-brother. Never mind the fact that Jean’s Phoenix force was not a split personality, but an alien entity she got while cavorting through space. This is not the mixed-bag soap opera that is the endless array of X-Men comic books, this is the end of the X-Men film trilogy, and a nice end-cap to a thoroughly enjoyable series. As William Shatner once said to the Trekkies… get a life. This is a fantastic summer movie and a sensational conclusion to an exciting film series. It’s certainly the most emotional of the films… but to be fair, this quality hinges on relationships set in motion by the previous installments, particularly the second film by director Bryan Singer.

I’ve already seen X-fans griping about who dies in the film, even though these characters and more have died—more than once, and returned (more than once)—in the comic books. I’ve heard critics complain that one of the heaviest plot points is overturned by the ending… and yet that’s what comics have done for decades. I’ve heard complaints about lack of character development (because the first two had SO much apparently—remember Toad and Sabretooth?) and, worst of all, complaints from lovers of the first two films that they “got characters and their powers wrong.” Reality check, you rabid X-philes: Spider-man did not have organic web-shooters, Bruce Wayne was not trained by R’as Al Ghul before he was Batman, and (closer to X-home) Cyclops was not younger than Jean, Mystique wore clothes and not funky latex, Wolverine was not infused with adamantium at Alkali Lake, and Nightcrawler never had all those tattoos. Fans, you can’t pick and choose where you bitch about your precious comic canon. Getting angry because you didn’t get alien races, planets blowing up, and giant evil robots in the world director Bryan Singer interpreted for the big screen five years ago is just… silly. Director Brett Ratner finishes the down-to-earth version of the X-Men Singer started, and does so with grace and alacrity.

Ratner-fied Success
When Brett Ratner signed on for the third X-stallment, everyone was worried. Franchises don’t do well when studios swap directors. (Remember Joel Schumacher’s Batman films, anyone? Neither do I.) Trilogies rarely hold together at all, especially if they have Keanu Reeves. And Ratner… would Chris Tucker or Jackie Chan be making an appearance? “X-Men: The Rush Hour”; yes, I was worried. What’s amazing is how Ratner shot this film with the first two features firmly in mind stylistically. It blends well with Singer’s vision, and there are amazing nuances in story and visual direction that make the movie truly feel that it’s bringing the entire saga full circle. While some pre-judgers seem to be calling for Ratner’s head on a plate, I think he deserves a medal. In fact, it brings to mind the original (read: only) Star Wars trilogy. The first Star Wars film introduced us to a fantastic world, the second focused more on character and added flesh to cardboard cutouts, but left us with no climax; when the third one came along, it finished things off with big explosions and bombast. This is the formula of the X-franchise as well, and it didn’t disappoint this comic-book reader. Also, see it soon, as some of the narrative choices in this film truly shocked me. Avoid spoilers.

Mutants: color, creed, or preference?
It’s no secret that mutants were a garish, comic book device for dealing with racism. Creator Stan Lee even said as much. Not only that, but Xavier and Erik “Magneto” Lensherr contrast fairly well with Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcom X. Charles Xavier founded his school and seeks to promote peace through predominantly non-violent methods; Magneto will secure mutant rights by any means necessary. Anti-Semitism also plays a large part of the film, as this discrimination has fueled Magneto’s cynicism toward humanity (what he fails to fully digest is that he now views he and mutantkind as a master race, just like the Nazis). More recently the mutant metaphor has been expanded to include sexual preference issues, but it could also be applied to simply holding religious beliefs that are culturally unacceptable and being persecuted for one’s faith.

In this film, there is an opportunity to receive a cure for the mutant gene. Ororo (Storm) protests that “There’s nothing to cure, nothing’s wrong with any of us for that matter!” But is this accurate? Are some mutations detrimental to others, or even the person who has them? In the course of the film, two respectable characters are confronted with the opportunity of the cure; one will take it, but the other rejects it. What seems prevalent here as the film’s theme is the ability to choose. What does this say for the metaphors above? Changing skin pigmentation really isn’t an option, but from an ethnic standpoint, it may be giving up the cultural distinctives to fit in. When it comes to sexual preference, however, an interesting dilemma emerges. There are people who claim that through various means (often spiritual and particulary Christian), they have rejected being attracted to the same sex and enjoy heterosexual relationships. They are “cured.” This is most often mocked and dismissed by mainstream culture… but isn’t that the same intolerance the homosexual community often charges religious groups with? What happened to that person’s “right to choose”? It seems that steering with a cultural compass only leads to more hypocrisy and intolerance.

Tough Choices
At the film’s opening, we find that when Xavier and Lensherr (Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart, lending these films a gravity that simply would not exist otherwise) met a young Jean Grey and realized her power was off the charts. Some difficult decisions were made in regard to the girl’s mind, and Xavier reveals those when Jean “returns from death.” Characters are offered a chance to be cured of their mutagen. Jean must decide what to do with her powers, and just whose side she is on, and Logan must face the possibility that he needs to make the greatest sacrifice of all. I didn’t feel as though any true savior shone through in this film. It was very much the muddled, miry world of hypocrisy and confusion that we wrestle with every day. As a wise man once said in the book of Judges, “everyone did what was right in their own eyes.” If you read the book of Judges, you’ll see that most often that leads to pain, suffering, violence, and death. Some people had good intentions, others bad, but things rarely ended well. The same can be said for this film, and pretty much the course of our daily lives.

Charles Xavier exhibits a high morality and a view of life that recognizes dignity and equality for all. However, even he reveals some choices he’s made that even the loose cannon Wolverine finds questionable. Erik refuses to seek peace and assumes that the only choice is domination, yet we see in an amazing scene that he has incredible respect for Charles. Most of the characters yearn for peace and community and strive for that goal, but it always seems out of reach. There is a hopelessness that pervades X-Men: The Last Stand and the only thing that brings any peace is a final, desperate act of true love and sacrifice. By the end of the film, several heroes lie in the ground, with no guarantee that the war is truly over.

The War
“Since the dawn of existence, there have always been moments when the course of history shifted. Such a turning point is upon us now.” This was the narration spoken by Patrick Stewart in the trailer for this film, evoking something far deeper than the content of the film itself. The storyteller and listener in all of us yearns for this monumental scale of tale. Deep down, we know that there are core, pivotal events upon which all of human history swings, and that the narrative of existence we share as mankind has a beginning, an end, and a fulcrum upon which the story swings and the true hero is revealed… a hero who will bring true justice and true peace once and for all.

Jean’s struggle is also particularly resonant in the film as she struggles with dual identities. I think we often feel this way, as our conscience pricks us and yet we act wickedly. Long ago the apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans that “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.” This Jekyll and Hyde concept, this war within, is not unique to Jean’s character or Paul. We know this war burns inside us, and—honestly—that we are not capable of containing it ourselves; we need help, and not the kind that just reads minds, fires eyebeams or sprouts knuckle-claws. We need help from above.

X-Men: The Last Stand will solve your desire for a great weekend flick. To cure the raging “phoenix” inside you? That requires something more.

The Promise of a Savior

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Thu, 04 May 2006 20:46:00 +0000

Occasional viewers of Japanese or Chinese cinema should be aware that Chen Kaige's The Promise is more fantastical than other offerings that have garnered fame in mainstream U.S. cinema. As the film opens with a young girl's conversation with a beautiful goddess, it takes a step further into the mythical realm, distinguishing it from the stylings of the popular Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or the lavish Hero. A brave slave runs as fast as the comic book Flash, and magical cloaks embue powers including immortality. What is most fascinating is that Chen has drawn on some of the earliest Chinese as well as his own concerns with modern society, and painted a rich narrative canvas that feels timeless in its imagination and commentary.

Chen also has made the most expensive Chinese film to date, weighing in at $35 million. The film screened in China last December in an attempt to qualify for the 2005 Oscars, but the press was given no special screenings, and was forbidden to interview Chen or make negative comments about the film, which created quite a stir in the filmmaker's homeland. I had the opportunity to have a talk with Director Chen Kaige, and he elaborated on his feelings regarding spirituality and Chinese culture. Despite the arduous path to the big screen in both our countries—a path that perhaps mirrors the plight of the slave Kunlun in the film—I believe The Promise stands on its own two feet, though not perfectly.

Early in the film, a corpse-scavenging beggar girl meets a beautiful goddess, taking what seems at the time like a good deal. She'll never be hungry again, and she'll live in a life of material satisfaction, but she will lose anyone who truly loves her. 20 years later, however, a loveless life has left Princess Qingcheng jaded and empty. Without love, none of the things she has truly satisfy. Her expensive clothes, rich food, wealth, and fame are meaningless. The film poignantly contrasts the empty love of wealth and goods with the true love found in relationship and loving service. It is a mistake we all often make in large and small ways, despite the wise refrain found in Ecclesiastes: "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless. As goods increase, so do those who consume them. And what benefit are they to the owner except to feast his eyes on them?"

Qingcheng craves true love, but knows only a miracle will free her from the cursed life which she herself has chosen. The goddess told her that only someone who could do miraculous feats—the greatest being rising from the dead—could change her fate.

A world away, we are introduced to the quiet, humble, faithful slave Kunlun, who has crawled on his knees all his life. When he stands to carry his master and escape a stampeding herd, however, it is revealed that he can run like the wind, escaping warring soldiers as well as the cattle. The great General Guangming sees Kunlun's power and makes the young man his personal servant. When injured by an assassin, the General dresses Kunlun in his majestic crimson armor, to go ahead and stop an attempted coup on the King's throne. Kunlun arrives to see the malevolent Wuahan posturing against an equally wicked king, and actually kills the King when the man threatens the beautiful Princess Qingcheng.

The armored Kunlun risks his life for the Princess repeatedly and earns her love, but she assumes the armored man is General Guangming. The story is Shakespearean in its complexity, political manuevering, and cases of mistaken identity. The General is happy to receive Qingcheng's affection, though the killing of the king costs him his position. The goddess appears and warns the General that he will not find happiness, but he rejects her prophecies. Kunlun obviously has feelings for the Princess, but will not betray his new master. He later discovers his true past from a mysterious, cloaked assassin, and slowly realizes he may play a part in the grand design as well. Running fast is not the only miracle at his disposal. It turns out that he, Qingcheng, Guangming, and the evil Wuhuan are caught in a web of destiny linking their past, present, and future... and love will not be possible without the shedding of blood.

Director Chen Kaige's depiction of the hero coming from humble origins and of humble appearance is a classic narrative device. Just as Jesus came from a backwater town with no noble position or beauty with the humble resume of a carpenter, we see in The Promise a hero and savior that does not come as anyone expects. He is patient, humble, but ultimately stands up for what he believes to save the one he loves. The Princess represents mankind in many respects, broken and trapped and hoping for a miracle to save us from the curse we find ourselves under, unable to remedy our fated situation. Kunlun rides in with the potential to lift Qingcheng's curse and give her a new destiny... if he succeeds.

Wuhuan and the General are also classic examples of men doing what seems right in their own eyes... which only seems to get them into trouble. While Wuhuan acts openly unrepentant for wicked ways, General Guangming evinces little respect for human life and is consumed by his own greed and arrogance. The Princess' mistaken opinion of his sacrificial nature and servant's heart both work in him to evoke a change in how he perceives life and love... but that still doesn't guarantee things will end happily.

The Apostle Paul once declared that if the dead are not raised, "Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die." He believed, as I do, that we are like Princess Qingcheng in The Promise—under a self-inflicted curse from which there is no escape without the resurrected Jesus Christ. If Christ didn't conquer sin and death, then escaping our dark destiny is hopeless and we might as well act like Prince is cool again and party like it's 1999 (Wait, Prince IS cool again... hmmm). I think this film touches the viewer because somewhere, deep down, Kunlun's sacrifice resonates with this deep and eternal truth; blood atonement is needed for our sin; we need a savior, and that Savior must be able to champion death.

This film is worth watching for the rich characters and commentary on life. The costumes and scenery are exquisite and provide no end of sights for the cinema-goer to feast upon, even when no martial arts sequences or wire-work are keeping your brain frenzied. The computer-generated imagery in the film is weak, and a few sequences that don't feel intentionally funny look a bit comedic as a result. It's a significant flaw in what was a truly enjoyable film.

A Talk with Director Chen Kaige

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Thu, 04 May 2006 20:22:00 +0000

Chen Kaige on Man, Myth, Destiny, and The Promise

A hungry, desperate vagabond girl finds herself face to face with a goddess who offers a proposition; young Qingcheng will receive material wealth, beauty, fame and admiration… but at the expense of ever being with her true love. The girl makes her choice, but years later comes to regret it as she finds herself the well-kept concubine of wicked men. The only hope to change her fate is if someone beyond human can turn back time, produce snow in spring, and return from the dead. Truly, only a miracle will save her… a savior. Does Kunlun, the slave with amazing speed, have the power and will to alter the course of destiny?

The director of The Promise, Chen Kaige, crafts a tale that wrestles with the oft-asked questions of mankind’s existence. Are we products of cause and effect, locked into a fate determined by a personal or impersonal design? If so, how do our actions, or how does our will, play a part in the story of our lives? Are we even responsible for our actions, or are we merely puppets playing out a story? I met with Chen Kaige at the Hotel Monaco in downtown Seattle to discuss his views on religion, materialism, China, and the human condition. Despite jet lag and an endless string of interviews stacked on top of each other, he was articulate and excited to talk about the deeper aspects of the film.

Chen Kaige: There are so many things I can tell you. I was inspired by some very famous Chinese myths, existing in the past. Those stories sound sort of naïve: for example, there is a man in a very famous myth that is running very fast like wind, and he desires to catch the sun, and one day he just runs after the sun forever and ends up with a death. Although it sounds pretty naïve, that story was written like three thousand years ago; that’s the beginning of Chinese civilization and I felt that kind of original power, you know? The newborn civilization, to believe that one man can run that fast. I was also influenced by what I see in modern Chinese society, because I sort of “over-watch.” I mean, what’s happened in the last 25 years… our social values, cultural values, everything is sort of changed, I mean with some good reasons and some bad reasons. People have to change anyway, so our lifestyle is completely changed. I remember even in the Cultural Revolution, there was still sort of a trust between people, and friendship; everybody felt like they were equal, you know? Now it seems like people are more greedy, motivated only by how much money they can make. They have become sort of commercial, or money-driven, that kind of a thing.

So, you can see in this movie with the General, or the Princess… they’re all under the control of destiny, but personality and destiny are sort of related to each other and connect with each other, so I think those characters represent a certain kind of value Chinese people believe now. I’m not saying I agree with that kind of a thing, but I want to show something really happening in society today.

PJH: So the Princess’ dramatic choice in The Promise, to choose security and luxury over every knowing true love… you feel it’s similar to China’s choice to change?

CK: I think it is a kind of universal choice, you know?

PJH: Yeah, we know a little bit about greed here in the West.

CK: (chuckling) A lot of people will give the same answer to the goddess regarding what they really want. People sort of believing in materialism—they think real love is too far away, too abstract, particularly in China because the difference between East and West is that you know, western society is always sort of religious, and “love” is actually a word from God. But in China we don’t have a god, so we don’t know that love.

PJH: You don’t feel China has a god?

CK: No, I mean… the people in China believe in Buddhism… not because they want to have a spiritual life… they just want to get something from the power. “I want this, please give it to me.” It’s not right… it’s not like real religion.

PJH: It’s not a relationship with God: it’s whacking the god piñata and trying to get the candy out of it?

CK: Right.

PJH: You think that’s the way religion is being treated in China?

CK: Right.

PJH: More like praying to things to get things… there’s nothing deep or relational about it.

CK: That’s true, because you can see how many people go to the Buddhist temples, stay on their knees, and beg for something from the Buddha. Like you said, this is not really religion between God and human beings. I’m not saying there’s any specific political meaning in this film, but I hope that on the emotional level that people could understand this film better, not just take this as a fantasy piece or something.

PJH: What do you hope, as a storyteller, to accomplish with a film, both for personal fulfillment when you make a film, and also when it hits people? What do you think film (and story) can accomplish when it goes out?

CK: This is always the question mark… am I doing film for myself, or for the public? The story is really about destiny, because I believe we are under control. The young girl in this film makes one wrong choice and then she becomes cursed. Whether or not there’s a chance for us to challenge our destiny, to improve… this is the message I’m trying to deliver. In this film I’m saying we’re under the control of fate, but let’s fight to get what we want… you are right; every time I ask myself… I’m sort of a well-educated person, but the film is for the mass audiences, so how can I build a bridge between myself and the public to really let people understand what I’m trying to say? I think this is always a question mark every time that I start a film.

PJH: In the film there’s “destiny” and “fate,” but then there’s also the humanlike “goddess.” You seem to believe there is destiny… some kind of design to the universe, and a path for each of us… a sort of control in that respect. Do you generally think of that controlling force as impersonal or personal? Is there a mind—an actual caring force behind that fate, or is it impersonal cause and affect?

CK: I think it’s a personal thing, because people have a different destinies, you know? I believe everything is written… but I don’t believe in fortune telling, because if I know everything, I lose interest in life, you know? I think that the reason I believe in destiny is because it can encourage us to do something that we cannot even imagine in the past.

PJH: You mentioned you identified with Kunlun, rising up and overcoming adversity. Is that something you’re hoping to do, or something past or present in your life where you’ve overcome certain obstacles personally?

CK: I used to be that way when I was very young. I don’t want to call myself a “slave” but, close enough, because I was sent to the countryside to do very hard labor there when I was only sixteen. It’s hard in the imagination of western people… I was very sad and depressed at that time, and I didn’t see any future for myself. I didn’t see my parents for three years, there was no long distance telephone, and the only thing I could do was just write a letter to my parents… but I got very strong encouragement from my parents. They told me I would grow physically and spiritually… that it was bad that we could not see each other, but it was good to make sure that I could learn to handle situations myself.

I feel like I became stronger than before; it’s like the moment in the film when Kunlun stands up and is carrying his master, running like the wind… that’s been my dream, that I always dreamed… how fast I could run spiritually. People have a very sort of superficial understanding about freedom; freedom is something when, all of a sudden, the door is open and you are connected with the whole universe. You become part of that, you are not afraid of anything anymore. Basically we live in fear; we are all living in fear, so I think that this character is the one who overcomes his fear because he has nothing to lose. He has the so-called golden heart and he’s ready to help, not only Chinji’s own destiny, but others as well… so this is a beautiful character.

PJH: I’m thinking about the Princess; she gets a chance because Kunlun helps her. He kind of becomes a savior, wearing the shadowy drape and becoming more than man… do you think people need help in real life? Is there a place where perhaps we do appeal to something higher, not just to “get” something, but because we truly want freedom? Or is this power purely within ourselves?

CK: We need help. That’s why we need God, no matter how we want to call it, Buddha, God, or universal spirit… but I strongly believe that we are created by our Creator. Although I’m Chinese, I am not specifically religious… but I believe that it is very important for us to believe, you know? In China people ask “Why do we need a church?” I don’t even want to explain to them why we want church, but it is because we are human beings. Animals don’t need church. Human beings need church. And why is there is something called a movie theater? A movie theater is another kind of church, you know.

PJH: I’m from the West, so obviously we just celebrated Easter; I think about Jesus dying and coming back from death as the hero and savior who gives freedom and restores the lives of broken people caught up in the wrong things. In The Promise, Kunlun dies for the Princess, so I was curious; did other Chinese myths play into your story, or did you find yourself drawing on a multitude of global ideas?

CK: I think it’s sort of global ideas, because sometimes love needs bloodshed; you need someone to sacrifice their life in order to save others, just like what the General does at the end of the film because he’s the one who never really believed in love. Love is something really big… love is something that should not only cover the people who love you, but also cover the people that hate you. That’s love. I think there is love in this film, which is quite unique because not a lot of films made in China are talking about love.

PJH: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13) Mr. Chen, I appreciate the chance to talk about where you’re coming from, and about the depth of spirituality that you’ve put into The Promise.

CK: Thanks a lot, thank you.

"Please sir... I want some Moore"

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Sun, 19 Mar 2006 01:58:00 +0000

V for Vendetta

—1. Overview
—2. Cast and Crew
—3. Photo Pages
—4. Trailers, Clips, Etc.
—5. Spiritual Connections

If Hollywood gave us a new Romeo and Juliet, but the end saw the young lovers alive and living happily ever after, we would not accept it. For those few who might not be familiar with the play, I’m confident that it would still ring false. There are ways in which source material can be tampered with that—even if one hasn’t read the source—muddle the story and leech from it the important qualities that made it worth adapting in the first place. Sadly, this is the fate of V for Vendetta, a great story obscured by its transition from literature to silver screen. The story’s grandeur is masked, much like its titular character, and we barely get a glimpse of the depth beneath.

In the year 2020, it seems, the

United Kingdom

is at the mercy of an oppressive regime that faked an attack on its own soil, provoking fear from outside that allowed the country to be taken over from within as people traded security for liberty. Young Evey (Natalie Portman) encounters the Anarchist V (Hugo Weaving), who intends to blow up Parliament and bring revolution. Moreover, he seeks a very personal revenge against those who tortured and wronged him, so he stalks the darkness like a cross between Batman and Neo, haunting the city like the Phantom of the Opera and training his female protégé.

Portman and Weaving deliver decent performances based on what they have to work with, but it isn’t enough. The “Stephens” (Rea and Fry) are also quality actors and pleasant to watch. The problems lie elsewhere. For instance, Natalie Portman’s opening narration quotes something V once told her; “Remember, remember, the fifth of November.” Only a few minutes later, he’s delivering that quote to her, and there hasn’t been enough time between the two deliveries to give either the resonance needed. It’s this poor pacing that is reflected throughout the film, with equally pitiable editing choices, awkward transitions, and weak use of the film’s music score. This isn’t a horrible film, but it just feels soft where it could be strong. Under the eyes of Andy and Larry Wachowski, James McTeigue’s directorial debut feels very limp.

I only read Alan Moore’s well-respected graphic novel once, back in the 80s, so I did not carry the baggage of plot comparison with me to the theatre. Indeed, I had to consult wikipedia.com to recall the plot points of the novel, after the tepid cinematic experience made me doubt my memory of its source. Even reading an online Cliff’s Notes-type version of the original story conveyed a better sense of flow than the film. The changes to Moore’s tale involving how the evil government comes to power seem like obviously shoe-horned critiques against the current

U.S.

administration, perhaps even playing off the modern myth that the terrorist attacks on 9/11 were staged. While I’m certainly not opposed to intelligent criticism of this or any administration, this imposition and others on the story just seem to distract us from the tale itself. Also imposed is the inevitable romantic love interest between Evey and V, which seemed out of place in the film even before I went back and verified that—yep—it wasn’t in the book. Note to screenwriters: if you have brilliant source material, don’t jack it up with cheap Hollywood expectations.

The film deals with intolerance and prejudice, but sadly this comes across as far more preachy than poignant. First of all, the only bigotry really emphasized seems to be homosexuality, with only a few passing mentions of religious oppression. The overemphasis on one issue, versus the illumination of racial and socioeconomic issues, makes the movie seem like it has only one axe to grind, rather than a multi-faceted story to tell. Brokeback Mountain dealt with this complex issue in a very thoughtful way; V for Vendetta’s emotional appeal seems juvenile and reactionary. There are valuable points to be made here about violence toward those who are different from us, and about legislating morality rather than gently influencing by way of setting positive examples, but they are just not transmitted well in this narrative.

Toward the conclusion of the film, V sends out thousands of his face masks to people all throughout the city. Thus, thousands of people are wearing his mask on the night he plans to blow up Parliament. Little girls are wearing them as they play. Others are using the masks to rob poor convenience store owners… and there you have it: the man who is out to bring down the government for committing atrocities in the name of its god, now has acolytes robbing from unrelated businessmen and committing acts of thievery, violence, and who knows what else in HIS name. Talk about a hypocrite. (Yes, when I checked, the mask ploy was not in the original story. Even the moral example of the central character is muddled by the film version.) At the end of the film, as the crowd pulls off their masks, the forced imagery that follows is so syrupy it made theatre-goers groan audibly. V is not the right hand of justice, he’s ham-handed justice.

And let’s not forget the glossed-over torture that V commits against Evey in the film. Does she love him because he’s a charismatic revolutionary, or because of Stockholm Syndrome? It’s easy to enjoy this character with his style of speech, his Matrix-moves, and his anti-big-government talk, but in the end his methods are no better than right-wing, rights-violating Jack Bauer on 24, or even the abusive soldiers at Abu-Ghraib. There are a lot of complex issues that opposing forces in the film treat with pedestrian reactions, and—if we’re lucky—at least the shallow characterizations might provoke post-film talk about what the deeper issues are. I think I prefer conversation happening in light of a film, versus in spite of the film, but I'll take good discussion either way.

V’s goal is to create a symbol that will instigate change; it’s unfortunate that the change will ultimately only consist of who’s in charge, rather than actually achieving a new way of thinking. What is the difference between terrorism and revolution? What methods are acceptable to foment change? Who does vengeance belong to? Should we love our enemies and bless those who persecute us, or let violence beget violence? When is it appropriate to take action to protect loved ones, family, or our ideals? V says that “People should not be afraid of their governments, governments should be afraid of their people.” Is this true? Wouldn’t an ideal government be made up of representatives of the people, and neither would have to fear the other? These types of pithy phrases pepper the film and don’t get to the heart of the issues or the ideal.

As second-unit director for the Matrix films, McTeigue has an eye for the fight scenes and they are enjoyable on a surface level. However, the ways in which the sequences are spaced and the plot is paced are aspects he definitely needs to improve upon. For a good film about a man with singular vision bringing down a pharisaical, totalitarian, Orwellian brave new world, rent Equilibrium. For a decent adaptation of an Alan Moore story, see From Hell. If you feel compelled to see this movie, just realize what you’re really getting is actually "M for Mediocre." In V for Vendetta, an evil government regime twists news and events to create a distorted version of the real story; it's unfortunate that the Wachowski brothers, or the evil Hollywood regime, has done the same thing with Alan Moore's rich, lustrous tale. Perhaps someday the man who helped reinvent the comic book medium several decades ago will have a great movie made from his groundbreaking work.

That’s a revolution V should really get behind.

Lonesome Jim

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Thu, 06 Apr 2006 06:58:00 +0000

A depressed, directionless young man (Casey Affleck) moves back from New York to live with his parents and his divorced brother, who has two young daughters. Having lost his job, it seems his last alternative is to slink back to his mom and dad. His shiftless nature pervades as he meanders through his small Indiana hometown, but some dramatic events and a relationship with a local single mom (Liv Tyler) slowly evoke small changes as he questions the meaning of life and love. Directed by Steve Buscemi, this grainy, low-budget film has a plodding pace which certainly isn’t for everyone. As the snowy screen and washed out image tells us instantly at the beginning of the film, some may enjoy its somber reflection on rural life and its snail-crawl plot; but it wasn’t for me.

Early in the film, a song promises a false hope. “Good times are coming,” the lyrics profess, yet the film seems to indicate otherwise. Jim can barely stand being in the presence of his callous father or his overly-mothering mother. Like the dead, depressed writers the literate boy memorializes on his bedroom wall, Jim can find no joy or pleasure in this life. Even sex with a local nurse named Anika ends in dissatisfaction. His brother Tim, feeling overwhelmed by his daughters and loathing his lack of life achievement, ponders the meaning of life. Jim tells him that “On earth… in this life… there is no answer.” The chronic despair prompts Tim to “accidently” crash his car into a tree; with his brother in a coma, Jim finds himself coaching his nieces’ basketball team, working at his mom’s business alongside his Uncle, who calls himself Evil, and wrestling with a guilt trip.

Of course, Jim’s assessment of life on this earth isn’t necessarily incorrect. Matter of fact; his response is biblical. Solomon laments much the same thing in the poetry of Ecclesiastes, sounding like a slightly more eloquent Jim:

"Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

What does man gain from all his labor at which he toils under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again.

All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing.

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.

Solomon later reminds us that this meaningless existence is essentially self-imposed, due to the fact that we have forgotten our Creator, the reason for our existence “under the sun.” He calls us to remember God before it’s too late and we find ourselves in the grave. Our protagonist in Lonesome Jim does not experience a religious epiphany like this, but he does learn an important lesson about love that might constitute a baby-step in that direction.

Jim runs into Anika again upon visiting his comatose brother, and the two strike up a... non-relationship? We’re not sure because they’re not sure. Things become even more awkward when Jim realizes she has a son. This responsibility-dodger has no desire to inherit any relational responsibilities, let alone the added bonus of being a surrogate father. To make matters worse, he inadvertently helps his Uncle use his mom’s business to move marijuana, landing his mother in deep trouble when the authorities assume the company is a front for selling drugs. A bad existence worsens, and as much as Jim hates his own life, he now fears he has ruined the already pitiful lives around him. It seems only a miracle will remedy the situation…

In a restaurant midway through the film, Anika confronts Jim with one of his most significant faults. As they sit together talking about Jim’s family, he claims that he “loves” them… but can’t stand to have anything to do with them. “What kind of love is that?” Anika asks simply, although her point is quite profound. Jim makes a claim to love his family but has no idea what “love” is. His emotion for them is not love at all, because love is not an emotion. Love is not something you are “in.” It’s something you DO.

Anika knows that love is not a feeling. Part of love may involve feeling, but equally essential components of love are action, choice, discipline, sacrifice, and more. Claiming a love that lacks these qualities is no love at all, but a cultural buzz word that has no efficacy. As the film continues, this realization slowly comes to light.

To further illustrate the issue, biblical scriptures demonstrate that God Himself is love; guys like Jim would do well to define love by looking at how their Creator first loved them.

•Love involves choice
Deuteronomy 30:16 – We are commanded to love
Joshua 23:11– We must exercise caution with our love
Hosea 12:6 – We must maintain our love

•Love involves action
Psalm 42:8 – God directs His love
Psalm 57:2 – God sends His love
1 John 4:9-10 – God showed His love by sending Christ

•Love involves Discipline
Job 5:17 – Do not despise God’s discipline
Proverbs 3:11-12 – Those whom God loves, He disciplines

•Love involves Sacrifice
Ephesians 5:1-2 – Imitate Christ as he gave himself up for us

•Love is efficacious. It produces change.
Romans 12:2 – Be transformed by the renewing of your mind

•Love is not something that comes and goes.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7 – Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Anika makes the salient point that a love without action or involvement is not really love at all. While it’s true that Jim’s mother molly-coddles him, (“You’re my big baby boy!” she gushes) the problem is that Jim really IS a big baby, lamenting about life as a prolonged adolescent. Toward film’s end, he sees his mother for the loving servant that she is to her family and others. He also realizes with a jolt that Anika’s patience with him is also a demonstration of love. He hasn’t made any sweeping changes, but a seed has been planted that shows promise. Sometimes the simplest interactions can cultivate the greatest changes in our lives.

Director Buscemi seems quite adept at creating a visual portrait like Lonesome Jim, capturing the essence of these characters' lives and the pulse of their community. While the style and pace were not up my alley, it will undoubtedly speak to some viewers who resonate with Jim’s woes or Anika’s frustration with his undeveloped sense of love.

Ireland in Seattle

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Wed, 22 Mar 2006 20:18:00 +0000

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Seattle legend Dan Ireland, co-founder of the world-renowned Seattle International Film Festival. Dan ran the Egyptian Theatre in Seattle for years, and has worked as a producer on films since the 80s. He now lives in L.A. and directs his own films. I managed to catch up with him as he visited Seattle with his latest film, Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont). Dan has worn so many hats revolving around the love and creation of film, conversation could be endless. We discussed the Oscars, SIFF, his current release, and the emotional rigors of growing old and losing ones you love.

Dan Ireland: There’s an old cliché that the older you get, you remember twenty years ago… but you don’t remember twenty minutes ago. And I don’t think that I’m that old, but I used to have a photographic memory. It was always hard to pull one over on me… now it’s pretty easy. “Oh really did I say that?” That’s one of the joys of life…

PJH: My church in Seattle has a lot of twenty somethings so it’s very strange as I’m turning thirty-three, it’s like I’m the older guy now.

DI: I was always the youngest guy in the group, and now I’m the oldest; I always gravitated toward people that were older than me—I don’t know why—but ever since I was 14, even my friends… I’ve always loved people that were able to get to a plateau in their life and be optimistic and wonderful and have that sort of celebrated life and this wisdom; there’s a little Ludovic Mayer in me for sure, there really is. I lived in Vancouver in an apartment building, and I was the youngest tenant in this amazing building right on the ocean. I use to go to sleep with the waves crashing against the shore, and all my neighbors were people in their late sixties, seventies… I just loved their spirit, and I was sort of the kid on the block so they were all entertained. I’ve always been fascinated by older people because there’s a wisdom that they have that you don’t, but there’s something that you can always share— and when I read Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont, that was the thing that resonated with me: the way it was able to take away a line of age and boundaries when you erase it and come down to the core, just two human beings who are at different points in their life but have a commonality that really brings them together. It was something that resonated in me and I’m really blessed it came into my life, at a time that was perfect; it came to me on my birthday. It is, and probably always will be, the greatest birthday gift I’ve ever gotten in my life.

PJH: And so you got the rights to the film, or first to the screen play, or…

DI: When I read the book I was smitten. And I wanted to do it and I’d had an experience with my mother a few months before, where she was really ill, and we didn’t know if she was going to make it or not… and she did make it. You know, things come to you and there’s a reason, and this film had a life of its own, and this might sound ethereal but I think the project chose me… it landed in my lap and within two months I was on a plane going to London. I’ve never had a film happen that quickly, I’ve never had less money to make a film, and I’ve had never had anything where I just immediately dove into it and it consumed me for a couple of years, right up to the movie poster. I’ve been involved in everything, every step of the way.

PJH: And you never even went to film school…

DI: No, but I created my own “film school” (the Seattle International Film Festival) and it was a lot more fun to learn about film that way, to go out there and just dive into it, and I’m still doing it.

PJH: The first Film Festival was in 1975?

DI: ‘76 actually… we opened the theater December 13th in ‘75. We opened up with The Gang's All Here which really set the stage for the rest of the adventure there.

PJH: You say your twenty-year memory is great; what are your recollections of the first Film Festival? Chaotic, a blur like somebody’s wedding day, or—

DI: We didn’t know how the reception was going to be cause it was our first year and the moment we opened our door it was mind blowing—it happened from day one and our opening picture was a German film called The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum and it was a winner; we had the respect of the audiences and the film critics at large in Seattle at the time. That year we got to introduce The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Grey Gardens, which is now going to Broadway as a musical… It's really wild to look back…

PJH: Have you always loved film and just drifted with the currents, or was there always a goal in your heart to direct your own film?

DI: No, no I had no idea what I was doing, I had no idea where I was going... It was the sum total of being a producer and taking it on the chin for… um… certain films that I had no control over. There was a point in my career where you have to take responsibility, and if you produce a movie you have to stand there by your director&mdasj;good, bad, and indifferent—and when they take it on the chin, you take it on the chin. I took it on the chin for a couple of directors that really didn’t give a damn and I had actors coming to me during the shoot going “What do I do? What do I do?” I never wanted to get into the director’s sphere, but on a couple of films where the actor was like that, I knew the script and I would work with them a little bit; it only happened on one film really…

PJH: You don’t have to name it, I’m not going to push you…

DI: I use to think it was the worst experience of my life, and through a chain of people and events it led me to the novel of The Whole Wide World, which led me into my world as a director, so you know, everything has a purpose if you look at it, and [now I see] how it led me and forced me to make decisions and inspired me to tell a story I felt no one could tell better than me. As a director, you’re going to have to live with your film for a couple of years at least, in fact a couple of years immediate and then a whole lifetime, so at the point you give birth to it you’ll get people that respond to it, people that don’t, and people that are passionate about it one way or the other. The most important thing as a filmmaker—for your survival and continued mental heath—is that you have to be happy with it; if you’re not then, then you have to look deeply within your life, see what you’re doing, and either find a new profession or remind yourself why you got into it. On my second picture I went through a brutal time… I had to re-cut it, and I didn’t want to make the cuts, and I had an option of taking my name off the film, which would have been an incredibly big disservice to the actors that I had asked to put themselves on the line, and so I took the hit. From that point on I understood a lot more of the depth and the complexity of what I had to do, and what my profession was.

PJH: Mrs. Palfrey had a meager budget. Did you get excited that a $6.5 million film won Best Picture this year? How did you feel about the nominees? A lot of controversy over…

DI: Oh, I was thrilled that all five nominees were indies, they’re all from that world. It was great, you know, and always, I think your own personal favorite choice is whatever it is and…

PJH: What was yours?

DI: Brokeback Mountain. Hands down. It was a movie that crossed so many lines, yet remained such a beautiful vision of a story, and the fact it was gay was incidental. It’s a story about love and loneliness… it’s just beautiful, I loved the film, I thought it was so beautifully handled, acted, so poignantly directed and beautifully shot, it was like a resonant movie that lived within me, for it haunted me, it’s a movie that stayed with me, and you know I like Crash, but it comes at you with a baseball bat with issue, issue, issue, issue, issue, and I love the performances, I think they are remarkable… [but] I thought it underlined everything a bit too much for my taste… But you know what? That is the whole thing of being subjective, and movies are, and the Academy… I always think they try and dare to be different; everything was leaning toward Brokeback with the BAFTAs and Spirit Awards and they could sniff that. Crash sort of like came in from nowhere and they love to do that, they love to throw it off. You look back at films that have won the Oscar for Best Picture, and you look at the nominees sometimes and you’re just like “WHAT? Where did that come from? How could THAT win over THAT?” But it does…

PJH: So, so you do… One thing that we always try and challenge people with when we teach of film and spirituality classes is this misconception that films are just entertainment—which, if you actually look up the definition, is deceptive: they’re calling it something it’s not, they’re assuming it’s mindless diversion. Even you in some very small ways are defiantly inserting some worldview and some vision—you’re trying to transmit how you feel about things through your film. What do you feel is the general idea out there with filmmakers like yourself? What are your goals?

DI: If I can tell a story that touches me… moves me in some way, that I’m passionate about and that I feel that I can bring a point of view to that isn’t necessarily on the page—or perhaps you find it along the way—that’s so rare and its so great and—great question, by the way… The best way I can describe it is, if you’re an actor and you’re doing a take, what I look for is to see that the artist is lost at the end of the take, so they’re not like the actor giving you the “performance” just waiting for you to call cut. They’re there, and it’s alive and it’s real. Anything you can do to infuse that in the frame… if I don’t get it, my instinct will tell me and I’ll keep going until I get it.

When we were out shooting that last scene [from Mrs. Palfrey] in the hospital, it was raining and I saw all these people sitting around in the rain… older people just sitting there. They’d wheeled themselves out from the hospital to where we were, and it just got me. I wanted that last shot, because it’s about life. I thought [later, “Should I rip this out of the film? Is this too heavy-handed?” And that’s where you have to be objective, because you don’t want to get accused of being syrupy; but there was just a little tiny thing where she just looks up and goes, “Hello love,” and [Ludo] just meanders on; it’s a little manipulative and shameless perhaps in one way, but in another way, I saw it, it was there, it was there, and I wanted to capture that…

PJH: And the scene when Joan wakes up and says her husband’s name…

DI: That was tough…

PJH: That was probably one of the toughest moments for me sitting there with my wife…

DI: If you want to know what that was… that was me and my mom. Three months before, my mom was like on her death bed, and she survived, thank God, but I flew up from LA to the hospital when she was laying there on morphine and out of it. So anyway, that was tough to shoot, that was the toughest thing I’ve ever shot because it had to be right, and I didn’t want people thinking I’m trying to pull for tears… It was just it was something that happened with me and my mother, and yeah…

(Dan took a moment to compose himself here)

DI: Oh God, it’s so hard sometimes, you know? I lost my father in 1997, and it was tough… But I didn’t know him like I know my mother; he was an enigma in a lot of my life and I loved him, with all my heart, but my mother… that was my drive…I’m sorry I’m not usually like this… That was what told me I had to do [the scene] but you know as much as it ripped me apart to do it, it was so liberating.

PJH: Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all Barbara Walters on you…

DI: No, it’s okay. I’m usually stronger about it, but doing that scene was like hell; the poor actors, poor crew… I was so precise and demanded everybody, you know, silence and intensity and keeping it right, because I was keeping myself in check… And for Rupert, it was a challenge, it was his first full-blown movie role, to have that emotion…

PJH: And it works because its an…

DI: It’s real. He’s a beautiful actor, I love him, I love him; he needed help there in that last scene when he walks in and finds her, after she’s passed, and I brought my computer that day where I have all my iTunes, and I had Donnie Hathoway’s version of “Growing Up,” so when I let Rupert listen to that it was like bam, from eight takes of him getting so frustrated that he couldn’t go there to like letting him listen… I just said “take your time, you come back, when you walk through that door, just when you walk through that door, you’re right and we’ll go.” And you know what, he listened, and just walked through the door and looked at me, and I just went “action”… that whole last scene of him discovering Mrs. P, you just, it was beautiful… And you can’t get that from an actor a lot. You can get it once. That scene with Joan when she’s listening to him singing, that was take one, and I knew I’d never get it again so I immediately ran to my cinematographer and was like, “Send it to LA immediately, and tell me that it’s in focus and that it looks okay!” because I couldn’t ask her to do that again, I just wanted to be an observer in that moment, but I was praying… It’s always scary when you have one take because if it’s out of focus… And on this budget, if you didn’t get it that day, that was that.

PJH: Well it’s a pleasure to have you back in Seattle, Dan. Thanks again, man, for your candor and vulnerability…

DI: By all means. It’s just like a thrill to come here, trust me. And thank you for… I haven’t gone there for a while, so thank you… really, it’s uh… Wow, liberating.

Plowright Evokes Tears as Palfrey

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Fri, 10 Mar 2006 07:13:00 +0000

This simple yet compelling human drama, Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont, focuses on an enchanting friendship between friends with ages differing by half a century. I think what made me really cry is the thought that this film may be more of a fantasy than The Lord of the Rings.

When Mrs. Palfrey moves to London, she finds herself in a resident hotel resembling something akin to British purgatory. Her son fails to visit, and the other nosy, elderly residents in equal need of life and diversion begin to doubt her son's existence. When Palfrey takes a nasty spill outside young Ludovic Mayer's apartment, they forge a refreshing friendship and subsequently fool the residents into believing Ludo is her grandson. This story, in less capable hands, might have been cheesy or pedestrian, but in the skilled hands of director Dan Ireland, and enhanced with the seamless acting of Joan Plowright and fresh newcomer Rupert Friend, Palfrey's stay at the Claremont feels fresh and tragically brief.

There is no bizarre, Harold and Maude oddity in this film adaption of Elizabeth Taylor's novel, though one of Ludovic's ex-girlfriends insinuates as much in one scene. The literate, sincere young man helps Palfrey when she injures her knee, and the two quickly realize that they have much to offer each other; Ludovic enjoys Palfrey's memories, her calm, her patience, and her quiet wisdom, while Mrs. Palfrey gleans joy and energy through the fresh, eager way Ludovic views the world, in stark contrast to the zombified lives of her aged peers. When her grandson does finally turn up, Palfrey gives him the bum rush.

The supporting characters add a splash of balanced humor to the drama; Anna Massey is touching as the controlling Mrs. Arbuthnot, and Robert Lang's aged suitor to Palfrey is delightfully painful to watch, but the best comedic bits are handled by Timothy Bateson as the ever-exhausted Doorman. Ireland's direction keeps the comedy properly subdued and appropriately British in style and wit. Still, it is the polished perfection of Dame Joan Plowright that grounds the film and makes it feel substantive, even when a contrivance in the film enables the older woman to play a part in Ludo finding new love.

Faced with a tight budget, Director Dan Ireland had the story moved from the 1950s to the present, but the tale survives the displacement and proves itself timeless. However, even as I read some early reviews and endorsements for the film, I found myself disappointed with some comments that recommended it for viewers over fifty. How tragic that a film celebrating the joy and growth found in cross-generational relationships should essentially be pigeon-holed for a particular generation! In my mind, I envision theatres full of Mrs. Palfreys, alone with no Ludovic Mayers by their sides, wishing that their grandchildren, or a friendly boy or girl, might share their lives and learn something from this touching story.

Moses wrote in Scripture that we should "rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God." Reverence for the Creator of the Universe and proper treatment of our elders appear in the self-same breath. Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont does not preach, but its familiar story should serve to remind young viewers how we ought to treat those who are in their golden years, with a full life and more in common than we often give them credit for. At one point, Ludovic bemoans the fact that he wasn't born in "simpler times." Palfrey rightly chides him for his romanticized assumption that the days of her youth were any "simpler" than his. Technological window-dressing and customs might change, but the timeless problems of family strife, toil, love, and coming of age were never less complicated; many we disparage as "out of touch" have walked in our shoes decades before we shoe-horned them on.

The book of 1 Timothy describes a good relationship with those older and younger than us: "Do not rebuke an older man harshly, but exhort him as if he were your father. Treat younger men as brothers, older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity. Give proper recognition to those widows who are really in need." When Palfrey wakes in a start from her chair, with her late husband's name on her lips, Plowright evinces such emotion and heartache, it makes every viewer with a meaningful relationship feel the pain of separation we rarely like to consider. The film is a gentle reminder to enjoy the life we've been given, to break out of our comfort zone, and to seek diverse relationships that will challenge us and make us grow.

Ultraviolet = Ultra-Vapid

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Sun, 05 Mar 2006 17:20:00 +0000

—1. Overview
—2. Cast and Crew
—3. Photo Pages
—4. Trailers, Clips, DVDs, Books, Soundtrack
—5. Posters (Milla Jovovich)
—6. Production Notes (pdf)
—7. Spiritual Connections
—8. Presentation Downloads

“My name is Violet, and I was born into a world you may not understand…”

This is the opening line of Director Kurt Wimmer’s latest film, and a propos because the film makes little sense, if any. Milla Jovavich spends the majority of her screen time fleeing from garish badguys, but the unseen enemies she successfully manages to evade are Mr. Plot and Dr. Good-Story.

Wimmer proved he could direct quality science fiction with his 2002 release Equilibrium. It’s unfortunate that he’s gone to such great lengths to prove that wrong with Ultraviolet, the story of… oh, I’m sorry – did I say there was a story? My bad. This film will undoubtedly be dubbed "this year’s Catwoman" and a great candidate for the Razzies. Seriously, this Milla Jovavich vehicle makes Resident Evil: Apocalypse look like Schindler’s List. As for the ham-handed religious metaphor sprinkled throughout the film, one will be too busy checking one's watch to notice, wondering just how long ninety minutes can be.

Don’t take me for a film snob here; I own Resident Evil. I own Scooby-Doo, for pity's sake. I enjoy a cheesy action flick, and thoroughly enjoyed Wimmer’s previous film. In Equilibrium, viewers were treated to a dystopian future with a seeming merger of church and state, ruled with an iron fist by a hypocritical, totalitarian tyrant. A lone, trained assassin became determined to save the oppressed peoples with a unique firearm/martial arts combo. Combined with compelling acting from Christian Bale, Sean Bean, and others, religious parallel abounded in the film with Christ-like imagery, and a narrative journey that mirrored the path of Paul the Apostle. Now comes Ultraviolet… and it seems Wimmer simply grabbed Milla Jovavich, a copy of his Equilibrium script, and some Sharpie pens, hacking up the same story by changing names and throwing in vampires. This material is such a retread, you can see the tire marks.

“Violet” (Jovavich) is an infected “hemophage” with chameleon-like powers, changing the color of her hair and clothing at will (with absolutely no purpose) throughout the film. One wonders why Wimmer and the marketing division who produced the trailer have sought to underplay the fact that the “hemophages” are vampires. (Maybe because the teeth prosthetics are so pathetic?) Violet steals an important “package,” which turns out to be a young boy who holds the key to either a hemophage cure, or the end of the world. The Cardinal of the evil “Archministry” wants the boy back, the vampires want him killed, and hence Violet spends the requisite ninety minutes protecting the boy against a CGI backdrop that looks like the worst, rejected green-screen inserts from Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. Honestly, cut scenes in most video games look more life-like than this movie, whether it's a burning building or Milla on her motorcycle. Tron had better effects. To make matters worse, Wimmer uses such a blurry, soft focus that at times Jovavich has no nose or facial features, just a gooey potato-head blob of a face with eyes, nose-holes and lips. People don’t have seem to have skin, but rather Krispy-Kreme glaze. It fails on all levels.

What’s even more appalling are the opening credits, which appear quite creatively on a succession of pretend comic covers for “Ultraviolet,” announcing Wimmer’s apparent perception that – although the character was created for the silver screen – he’s making a self-styled “comic book movie.” Although the sequence is the only imaginative one in the film, the subsequent cinematic experience is so banal that it makes this claim an insult to the comics medium and its readers.

Violet storms the Archministry’s expansive headquarters, which is conveniently laid out like a gigantic cross. Clad in pure white, she battles her way to righteous victory until she finds both gloved hands pierced in battle. Bleeding out for the sake of the world, her costume turns deep crimson, and she steps forward ready to lay down her life to save the boy and the infected planet. The imagery is obvious, but the whole film has made viewers roll their eyes so many times the spiritual theme evokes only laughter or groans. Again, Wimmer made this point already, and with panache, in Equilibrium. Rent his previous film to save yourself money and spare yourself a needless headache. Ultraviolet is Wimmer's microwave leftovers.

As we see Violet use her amazing belt device in the film, which apparently enables her to defy both gravity and decent visual effects, I felt like I was watching the movie's director and not Milla Jovavich. I sure hope he finds his footing again.

Final Destination 3 - Out of Control

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Tue, 21 Feb 2006 00:36:00 +0000

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?

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 01:58:00 +0000

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, “geisha” is still a synonym for “prostitute.”

“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

james@marshillchurch.org (James Harleman) — Mon, 20 Feb 2006 01:47:00 +0000

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.