Behind the Screen: Hollywood Insiders on Faith, Film and Culture

(Spencer Lewerenz and Barbara Nicolosi, eds. Grand Rapid: Baker Books, 2005)

After a spate of books about Hollywood written by Christians who are observing the industry from a distance, it’s refreshing to see a book like Behind the Screen, which was written by a group of individuals whose day jobs place them at the heart of the most influential cultural enterprise on the planet.

The book was produced by the faculty and staff of Act One, a non-profit organization founded to train people of faith for careers in mainstream film and television. The list of contributors includes writers like Janet Scott Batchler (Batman Forever), directors like Scott Derrickson (The Exorcism of Emily Rose), producers like Ralph Winter (the X-Men franchise, Fantastic Four) and Dean Batali (That ‘70s Show), story consultants like Linda Seger (Making a Good Script Great), and many others. Their essays cover topics such as why Christians should be involved in the entertainment industry, how to know if you’re called to the industry, how to survive in Hollywood once you get there, and even practical advice on how to break into Hollywood on both artistic and financial levels. (On this latter approach, check out Charles B. Slocum’s fascinating essay “The $10 Billion Solution,� wherein he argues that if Christians really want to make a lasting impact in Hollywood, they should put their money where their mouth is and buy up one of the major studios.)

Some of my favorite contributions include “A Filmmaker’s Progress� by Scott Derrickson, where he uses Pilgrim’s Progress as a rough outline for his own spiritual and artistic journey; “Changing the Channels� by Dean Batali, in which he instructs Christians on how to communicate effectively with people of influence in Hollywood, and Linda Seger’s essay “What Kind of Stories Should We Tell?�, which issues a call for Christians to abandon overtly prescriptive stories in favor of those that take a more subtle, descriptive approach.

Apart from their association with Act One, I quickly got the sense that the contributors also share something else in common: strong feelings of frustration with Christians outside Hollywood who: a) treat Hollywood as if it is the whore of Babylon, b) assume there are no Christians working there, c) are shocked and appalled when they find out there are Christians in Hollywood or d) attempt to “take over the entertainment industry for Christ� without having the slightest idea about how the industry works, what audiences want or how to create a compelling, theologically significant piece of cinematic art. Clearly, this book was written to head such people off at the pass, and it definitely accomplishes that goal.

One thing I do want to take issue with in this regard is Lewerenz and Nicolosi’s opening remark about how Christians don’t like Hollywood. If they had prefaced the word “Christian� with the word “evangelical� or “fundamentalist,� and if they had written these words even five years ago, they may have been closer to the truth. However, today these and other Christian groups are embracing Hollywood like never before. (Remember that spate of books I mentioned earlier? Box-office attendance also bears this out.[1]) As it stands, such negative statements merely create a false picture of conflict—much like the one that has maligned the relationship between Christianity and science for the last few centuries—and ultimately work against the spirit of reconciliation this book is striving to create. That said, if I had to deal with as many sincere but ultimately ignorant Christian zealots as they have over the years, I would probably share their pessimistic view.

Part how-to manual, part meditation on what role Christians should play in the entertainment industry—and what role the entertainment industry should play in the lives of Christians—Behind the Screen is must reading if you’ve ever cast a stone at Hollywood, wondered how we can span the gap between Christianity and culture or considered getting involved in the entertainment business yourself.

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[1] According to a survey conducted in 2004 by the Barna Group, born again Christians who are neither conservative nor liberal on political matters are among America’s most prolific movie watchers. (http://www.barna.org/FlexPage.aspx?Page=BarnaUpdate&BarnaUpdateID=167)

The Island

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

It is ironic and yet not altogether surprising that a film about cloning seems to have been derived from so many of its predecessors. Minority Report, THX-1138, Logan’s Run, and The Matrix all form part of The Island’s exemplary DNA. Whether this rich heritage enhances or takes away from your viewing experience depends on whether or not you’ve already enjoyed the original films. If not, then welcome to a brave new world. If so, then The Island can’t help but suffer under the law of diminishing returns.

Even if you ignore the fact that The Island has cannibalized so many previous sci-fi classics, the movie still struggles under its own internal implausibility factor. I’m not talking about the main premise, which asks, “What if a company allowed you to clone a copy of yourself to be used for spare parts?� “What if one of those clones figured out what was going on?� and “What if one of those clones was you?� Interesting questions, all. It’s the little things that bring this film down, such as how easy it is for the hero, Lincoln Six Echo, to figure out what’s going on, the unbelievable escapes, the overly graphic “vehicular porn� (voyeuristic exploitation and destruction of impossibly beautiful vehicles), and the borderline dues ex machina ending.

Despite these and other flaws, The Island is still a lot of fun. It also reads as an intriguing spiritual parable. Like Lincoln Six Echo, we all live under a system that lies to us. In the film, Lincoln and his fellow clones are made to believe that the entire world has been contaminated, and they are the only survivors. The last remaining piece of uncontaminated soil is “the Island,� and the only way to get there is through winning the daily lottery. In reality, of course, winning the lottery has much darker implications for the clones. What starts out as a trip to Paradise very quickly takes on hellish proportions.

The lies our society tells us—that being beautiful, rich, and powerful is all that matters—are different from the lies told in this film, but they still fill us with the same false hopes. Like Lincoln, our only chance for survival is to discover the truth behind the lies before our own number comes up.

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

—Review by Kevin Miller
—Review by Jacob Sahms
—Review by YO

Reflections on "The Devil's Rejects" Part 1

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film

Let me get to the obvious question first: Why on earth would I bother to review a film about a family of homicidal maniacs who go on a killing spree? The idea seems even more ludicrous when you consider that this film’s main claim to fame is that it is the sequel to House of 1,000 Corpses, which was roundly despised by critics and horror fans alike. As my parents used to ask in regard to my viewing choices, “Kevin, why waste your time on such garbage?� In response, I have what I feel are several valid reasons for seeing this film:

1. The resurgence of the horror genre: Horror films have always been with us. However, after occupying a fringe role in cinema over the last decade, they have been slowly creeping back into the mainstream. If you look at this year’s box office, so far 14 out of the 100 top-grossing films fall into the horror category, with many more to come.[1] That’s over twice as many horror films as you will find among the 100 top-grossing films of all time.[2] Clearly, something is going on here. But is this merely a blip on the radar, a fad that will quickly wear itself out? Or does it signal a major shift in public consciousness, a renewed fascination with the macabre? In either case, why this sudden need to confront death and fear in their purest and most terrifying forms? What are we getting out of the experience? To help answer such questions, I thought I would use myself as a test subject. What would I get out of viewing The Devil’s Rejects? Would the experience be completely negative, or would something positive also result?

2. A close encounter with Scott Derrickson: Two years ago while developing my own supernatural thriller (After…, which was recently made into a movie by my co-writer, director David L. Cunningham), I had the chance to meet writer/director Scott Derrickson (Hellraiser: Inferno, Urban Legends: Final Cut, and the upcoming Exorcism of Emily Rose.) That led me to an article Scott wrote for Christian Century called “Behind the Lens: A Christian Filmmaker in Hollywood.� Defending his own work in the horror genre, Scott says:

"No other genre offers audiences a more spiritual view of the world, and no other genre communicates a more dearly defined moral perspective. Haunted-house films like Poltergeist and The Uninvited offer a perspective rare in cinema—the recognition that there actually is a spiritual realm. Zombie films like Dawn of the Dead are satirical indictments of American consumerism, but they also present the uniquely Christian idea of bodily resurrection. More mainstream horror films like Angel Heart, The Exorcist and Rosemary's Baby explore the satanic and demonic realm with feverish moral passion. And even the so-called slasher genre ought to be appreciated as the only kind of film that makes murder truly horrific. Though slasher movies seems to take the extreme and disturbing view that if you're young and have sex, you deserve to be butchered, the usual perspective of contemporary films seems to be equally extreme in the opposite direction, for they imply that teenage sex is altogether exempt from moral judgment. More than any other genre, horror clearly communicates the distinction between good and evil."[3]

Scott is not alone in his positive assessment of the genre. Many other writers agree that horror films aren’t just significant from a spiritual point of view; they serve a valuable social function as well.[4] Not only do horror films confront spiritual issues head-on, they also act as a “psychic release valve for our repressed fear and anxiety.�[5] In other words, rather than act out on our fears in ways that might harm others or ourselves, horror films—like roller coaster rides—allow us to confront them in a safe environment. Through the influence of Scott and others, I came to see that writing off horror films as just so much garbage doesn’t cut it. (Sorry, Dad.) If we are to be responsible as Christian critics, a more reasonable response to movies like The Devil’s Rejects should include questions like: What is this film saying about God, about the spiritual realm in general? What standard of morality is being applied here? How does this film affirm or challenge Christian theology and morality? What fears underlie the sense of dread and horror this film creates? Where do such fears come from? How do we deal with such fears when we aren’t watching horror films? How should we deal with such fears?

3. Serial killers as superheroes? Over the last several months, I have done a lot of research on superheroes, particularly comic book heroes like Superman and Batman, to see what our fascination with such characters says about us as a culture. In general, I have come to believe that superheroes are merely a new mythology, the most recent manifestation of the Greek and Roman gods. We get a vicarious thrill out of watching them overcome evil, because they give us hope that we can do the same. Nothing too complicated there.

But around the time I saw the film Suspect Zero—which is premised on the idea that a single serial killer or “suspect zero� could potentially be responsible for the majority of unsolved murders in the United States—I began to wonder if perhaps there was a connection between superheroes and “superkillers.� Could we be drawn to both archetypes for similar reasons? Like superheroes, serial killers are everywhere—in the movies, on television, in the news, even in video games (which often turn players into virtual serial killers by rewarding them for each kill.) Where does this fascination come from? On one level, I think the ubiquitous presence of serial killers in film and fiction merely reflects laziness on the part of writers. Turning the bad guy into a serial killer is the easy way out. If the villain is simply nuts, there’s no need to develop a complicated backstory or clearly outlined motivation. But the explanation couldn’t be that simple. Writers may be lazy, but audiences are still eating up their work. It must be satisfying some sort of hunger.

That led me to wonder: Could it be that serial killer stories are merely a shadow version of the superhero myth? Just think of the similarities between your garden-variety superhero and your garden-variety serial killer: 1) both adopt new personas when they begin their public work, 2) both have secret identities, 3) both have (or believe they have) superpowers, 4) both adhere to a strict moral code, which usually allows them to operate “above the law,� 5) both believe individual action is the best way to cure society’s ills. The parallels are simply too obvious to ignore. The main difference I see is that superheroes exist to enforce the status quo while serial killers (and super villains in general) exist to challenge it, to question its assumptions, even to mock it at times. Therefore, it isn’t too unreasonable to suggest that we enjoy stories about serial killers because we also like to challenge the status quo, to stand out from the crowd and be recognized. Even though we don’t exactly approve of what these characters do, we can still cheer for them in principle. I thought that viewing The Devil’s Rejects would be the perfect opportunity to test my theory, to see if the members of the Firefly clan are really just superheroes in disguise—a dark counterpoint to the Fantastic Four.

4. My own fascination with the horror genre: For two Halloweens in a row as a child, I attempted to watch Salem’s Lot on television. Both times, I never got past the first half hour. Other early horror memories include attempts at watching The Fog and Orca. While I never had much luck sitting through such shows, I did gain a measure of bravery during high school that allowed me to take in horror classics like Jaws, Evil Dead 1 & 2, The Exorcist, Poltergeist, Psycho, Hellraiser, and the first three Nightmare on Elm Street films. While I enjoyed these movies immensely, nothing compared to the thrill I got out of The Shining, which I didn’t work up the courage to see until I was in my mid-twenties. It still ranks as my all-time favorite horror flick. The sense of dreadful anticipation Stanley Kubrick manages to sustain throughout the film is unparalleled. It still scares me today.

At the same time I was taking in such horrific masterpieces, though, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was doing something wrong, that I was violating a taboo of some sort. That sense increased after I became a Christian, where I was quickly confronted with the following verse, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—of anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things� (Philippians 4:8). Not seeing how horror films fit into any of these categories, I swore them off for a while, choosing to focus on less frightening fare.

Even though I felt my interest in the genre was no longer appropriate, the fascination did not go away. It wasn’t until I embarked on the writing of After… that I was forced to confront it head-on once again. While David and I never set out to write a horror film, suddenly I woke up one day and realized we had done exactly that! Now what was I going to do? How could I, as a Christian, justify pouring my time and energy into such… garbage? Thankfully, as recounted above, I ran into Scott Derrickson and others who helped me see that perhaps there was some merit in what we were doing after all. In fact, suddenly I was excited to be on the cutting edge of a genre where most other Christians feared to tread.

Which brings me back to The Devil’s Rejects: Part of my spiritual growth process over the past while has entailed bringing “the deep things of darkness� into the light (Job 12:22). Rather than repress or hide my fascination with the dark side, I have determined that it is much healthier to bring it into the open, to hold it under the light of God, my wife, and my Christian community, and see if it can stand the glare. From the time I first heard of Rob Zombie’s lengthy struggle to find a distributor for House of 1,000 Corpses, I have wanted to see the film. But I kept that desire a secret, thinking I might rent it some time when my wife is away for the weekend. However, knowing that any secret between my wife and me could be potentially hazardous to our marriage, when The Devil’s Rejects came out, I finally came out of the closet and told her I wanted to see it. “For study purposes, mainly,� I said, citing some of my arguments above. But I wouldn’t be completely honest if I didn’t admit to having some less scholarly motivations as well. Having been a fan of Rob Zombie’s music for years (which is another story), I really wanted to see what he would do behind the lens. I also wanted to see if it was as gruesome as everyone said it was. I wanted to see if I could watch it, and survive.

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[1] Under the term “horror,� I include psychological or “smart� thrillers like The Jacket,Land of the Dead, haunted house movies like The Amityville Horror, slasher flicks like House of Wax, and serial killer films like The Devil’s Rejects.
[2] All box office stats taken from http://www.boxofficemojo.com/.
[3] http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_3_119/ai_83143842#continue
[4] For more on this, check out the weblog “Holy Terror,� http://home.earthlink.net/~holyterrorblog/id17.html.
[5]http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_3_119/ai_83143842#continue monster or zombie movies like

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film

Reflections on "The Devil's Rejects" Part 2

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film

So there you have it, in my previous post I gave a nearly 2,000-word response to one question: Why I chose to watch this film. The fact that I took so much time to justify my actions should tell you something about the world in which I live. It may also help explain why Rob Zombie had such a difficult time bringing his dark vision to the screen. After all, viewed on a symbolic level, the killers in The Devil’s Rejects could be taken to represent Rob Zombie, himself. Think about it: All the Fireflies want is to be free—free to kill, torture, and otherwise terrorize their community. Rob Zombie also wants to be free, free to terrorize people on screen, pushing the limits of good taste and cinematic decorum as far as they can go. In the case of the Fireflies though, obviously such absolute freedom cannot be tolerated. Thus, a character like Sheriff Wydell arises to stop them. What about Rob Zombie’s situation? Can any freedom—particularly artistic freedom—be absolute? That certainly hasn’t been his experience. In striving to get his first film released, Zombie had to overcome an army of people just like Sheriff Wydell; people who sought to stop him on moral, economic, religious, and artistic grounds.

As is often the case, though, Wydell’s pursuit of justice turns into a quest for revenge once he realizes the Fireflies are responsible for his brother’s death. Eventually, Wydell becomes a serial killer, himself, glorying in every blood-soaked minute as he hunts down, tortures, and kills members of the Firefly clan. Interestingly, Wydell starts out believing he is working in the service of the Lord. He prays on several occasions, calling himself the Lord’s “arm of justice,� and he continues to believe he is doing God’s work even as he is doing things like nailing Otis Firefly’s hands to a chair. Could Zombie be saying something here about the Religious Right’s desire to clamp down on artistic and religious freedoms? Could this movie be trying to warn us that mingling Church and State can easily turn a quest for justice into a vengeful witch-hunt? I certainly think so. The prognosis Zombie offers for such a situation isn’t good, seeing as Wydell not only becomes the very thing he hates, the transformation process also leads to his demise.

Despite his bold statement in favor of freedom, even Zombie seems to recognize that every freedom has its limits. Otherwise, like the Fireflies, our pursuit of freedom will lead inevitably to our own doom. Then again, he could be saying that that the inevitable fate of every artist or visionary is self-immolation in the face of an unyielding society. “Beware all ye who would fight the law, because the law will win.� But surely the mere existence of The Devil’s Rejects is a fitting rebuttal to such an argument. Obviously, Rob Zombie hasn’t given up, and he has certainly learned a thing or two since his last time out. I’m not just talking about the limits of artistic freedom, either. No matter how you feel about the subject matter of The Devil’s Rejects, you have to admit it isn’t a bad little film. The story is reasonably well structured, the acting is memorable, the characters are likeable (yes, even the Fireflies), and the dialogue is often clever. From a cinematic standpoint, the film isn’t too bad either, exuding a cool, retro feel.

However, it is what I would call “over-edited.� Just check out the opening scene where the police vehicles arrive on the Firefly farm, for example. After an ominous crane shot that shows the vehicles passing under a pig’s head nailed to the top of a ranch-style archway (nice symbolism, by the way), Zombie cuts to at least three other perspectives on the scene, all showing virtually the same thing, and the cuts don’t completely match, either. Zombie’s inexperience as a director shows through in these and other scenes, but they also give you the sense of someone who is still feeling out the medium, still experimenting rather than limiting himself to a rigid aesthetic. In this sense, I really appreciate Zombie and his work. Not only is he the poster boy for persistence, he also reminds me that sometimes enthusiasm can be just as powerful as perfection, if not more. That frees me up to pursue my own endeavors without worrying if I get it right the first time. Zombie certainly didn’t, but he has taken a giant leap forward with this film. His experience helps me believe that I can do the same with my own creative endeavors.

So you are probably beginning to see that my experience viewing The Devil’s Rejects was not completely negative. On one level, I actually found the film inspiring, at least in terms of how it came to be. But was there any negative fallout from watching it? Surely viewing 108 minutes of homicidal mayhem must have some sort of downside.

The most immediate effect I can think of is the sense of paranoia I felt walking out of the theatre. At that point, it was about 12:30 a.m. Most of the other movies had already let out. As soon as I opened the door to exit the theatre, three young guys ran toward me yelling. I jumped involuntarily, and then relaxed when they said they had been waiting for someone to come out so they could go in and use the bathroom (the theatre was already locked). Nevertheless, before I got into my car, I made sure nobody was crouching in the back seat.

Being a red-blooded male, the nudity in this film also posed somewhat of a challenge for me. I felt particularly conflicted, seeing as the nudity was always paired with violence. I didn’t want to be aroused by such scenes, but I have to admit that some of them stuck in my head all weekend. That made me wonder: Is it the fault of filmmakers like Rob Zombie that men in our society find nudity—even non-sexualized nudity—so titillating? Or is it merely a reflection of how much we have missed the boat in terms of appreciating the human body as one of the Creator’s finest works? Is it even possible for men in our society to view female nudity without resorting to lust? Is such a stance possible in any society?

One thing I noticed about my viewing experience in this regard was that the audience was composed exclusively of men in their early twenties, some accompanied by their girlfriends. I think this is a good reflection of those who are drawn to the horror genre as a whole. Seeing as so many recent horror films make such a strong connection between sex and violence—featuring beautiful women victimized by violent men—I couldn’t help but wonder if this reflects some sort of latent misogyny in our society, particularly in this age group. Perhaps young men are drawn to these types of films, because they fear women—especially beautiful women—and they get a vicarious thrill out of watching other men subdue them. Then again, perhaps it isn’t wise to write down every stray thought that happens to pass through my brain, either…

Moving on to other spiritual connections, I have already reflected somewhat one what this film says about God in my discussion of Sheriff Wydell. But I wanted to add something more here: At one point in the film, Otis challenges one of his victims to cry out to God for help, to ask him to send a bolt of lightning down from the sky to destroy him. As the victim prays, Otis begins ranting about having been filled by the Holy Spirit, about how he’s been saved. In the end, however, it is all a ruse, and he kills his victim anyway. As I watched this scene, I couldn’t help but wonder why God tends not to intervene at such moments. Is he too weak to respond? Or is he just plain unwilling? Where is he in such situations, anyways? As I thought about it, I began to suspect that perhaps the answer was right in front of me.

In the parable of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31–46), Jesus describes a terrifying scene in which the righteous are separated from the unrighteous at the end of time. The determining factor was how they had treated Jesus during their lifetime.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'� (Matthew 25:34–36)

Following this discourse, the righteous are stunned. They don’t remember ever doing anything like this for Jesus. That’s when he delivers the clincher: “Whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.� In other words, every time the righteous helped someone in need, they were actually helping Jesus. As I reflected on this story, I thought, couldn’t the opposite be true—every time we harm someone in need, we are also harming Jesus? If so, could the answer to, “Where is God in such situations?� be “In the victim, begging and pleading for the killer to stop�?

Perhaps, but that still doesn’t answer the question of the missing lightning bolt. We have established that God cares, but why doesn’t he take more drastic action to end the situation? To answer that question, we have to go back to the crucifixion. When Jesus first came to public attention, his fellow Jews assumed he would be just the sort of messiah or savior they wanted: someone who would unite them in their struggle to drive out the Roman oppressors. But Jesus proved to be a much different kind of savior, one who overcame his enemies not by killing them, but by dying on their behalf. Even while up on the cross, Christ, the ultimate murder victim, asked not for a lightning bolt to fry his executioners, but for mercy. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing� (Luke 23:34). So what gives? Is God just too weak to stop evil men at work, or is something else going on here?

If you think about it, Jesus was up on the cross for one reason: free will. By giving human beings free will, God created truly autonomous creatures, capable of accepting or rejecting him as they wished. But in granting humans free will, he also created the potential for evil; a life lived apart from the wisdom, beauty, and power of God. While the potential for disaster in such a situation is great, if God were to contravene our free will, he would commit an even greater evil by violating the very quality that makes us human. So, even in the most extreme situations where we are using our will to do the terrible things the Fireflies do in this film, God may not intervene by striking the killers down. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t present in the situation, seeking to woo, cajole, and otherwise convince the erring individual to reconsider his or her decision. It also doesn’t mean there won’t be eternal consequences for both the victim and the victimizer as a result.

With freedom as the highest value in The Devil's Rejects, we should probably ask what the Bible has to say about the topic. On this level at lest, I think Scripture pretty much agrees with Rob Zombie. (I’ll bet even Rob would be amazed to hear that.) The Apostle Paul puts it best when he says, “Everything is permissible for me—but not everything is beneficial. Everything is permissible for me—but I will not be mastered by anything� (1 Corinthians 6:12). As Zombie has had to learn, every freedom has its limit. But even while such limits may look like enemies in the beginning, often, they wind up looking more like a friend.

Let us turn now to the topic of fear: Most people assume that serial killer/slasher films like The Devil’s Rejects play on our fear of death. However, these films actually play on our fear of a particular kind of death, namely, a violent, painful death at the hands of another human being. As West Point professor Daniel Grossman sees it, our greatest fear is not death itself but “intentional, overt human hostility and aggression that assaults the self-image, sense of control and ultimately, the mental and physical health of human beings.�[1] Where does this fear come from? According to Grossman’s study of soldiers in combat situations, it isn’t like other phobias, such as a fear of snakes, which vary according to each individual. Fear of a violent death at the hands of another human is an automatic, universal human response. It seems to be hard-wired into our psyche.

How do we deal with such fears when we aren’t watching horror films? Generally, we don’t have to, because rarely are our lives threatened to this degree. But on some level, we must sense this fear at work. Otherwise we wouldn’t have any interest in films like The Devil’s Rejects. When we do watch such films, we are metaphorically brought to the brink of death and then yanked back again, with all the euphoria such an experience entails. When we walk out of the theatre, we feel like survivors, not victims. Perhaps we even gain a measure of bravery rather than fear, confident that no matter what happens in our lives, it couldn’t be nearly as bad as what we just witnessed on film.

But is viewing grisly, violent, and terrifying films necessarily the best therapy for helping us deal with our fears? Isn’t that sort of like the now laughable "Primal Scream Therapy," which encouraged people to scream or punch a pillow when they felt angry as a way of getting the feelings out? The theory seemed to hold water until researchers discovered that such responses to anger merely compounded and intensified an individual’s angry feelings rather than reducing them. Could the same thing be true with fear? Could watching horror films actually make us more fearful rather than less? I’m still not sure. As I recounted, my immediate response after viewing The Devil’s Rejects was one of elevated fear. But that feeling had dissipated by the time I reached home. Then again, my fear of deep, dark water curtailed my swimming activities for years after viewing Jaws, and it still gets to me from time to time. In that case, confronting my fear of the unknown made it worse, not better.

So if watching horror movies isn’t the best way to deal with our fears, is there alternate solution? Last year, I edited a book by my pastor Brad Jersak called Fear No Evil: Overcoming the Culture of Fear. In that book, Brad argues that fear is simply not an option if we truly understand who God is. Brad begins his argument by stating that behind every fear is a lie. In this sense, our true source of fear is not the pain or death someone like the Firefly family might inflict but the lies we believe about that pain or death. What lies might be ruling us in such a situation? Something along the lines of how we are beyond God’s help, that if we die, we will cease to exist, that there is no afterlife where wrongs will be made right.

The second stage of Brad’s argument is this: Fear is not your friend… Ever!

"Contrary to popular belief, 'healthy fear' is an oxymoron. Fear should never be confused with wisdom. While wisdom tells you to step back from a precarious cliff, fear gives you vertigo. Thus, fear of heights actually increases the danger of falling. Wisdom guides someone who is lost in the woods or avoiding a predator into safety. Fear just paralyzes them or causes them to panic. They may run deeper into the wilderness or begin to act like prey. People who are terrified of predators—including human predators—are more vulnerable to becoming victims."[2]

Brad goes on to argue that our primal fears or phobias stem from our core needs, which may have been threatened at a young age. Thus, if our need to be known and loved was threatened by the fact that we were abandoned or neglected as children, we may grow up with a fear of rejection or isolation. We come to believe that nobody cares about us, that we are unlovable and worthless. These lies are so powerful that we cling to them even in the face of people who clearly love and value us. They also tend to establish a pattern for our life decisions that lead us away from God. In this way, the lies about other people “I am unlovable� or “no one cares about me� become lies about God “God does not love me� and “God does not care about me.�

If every fear is based on a lie, Brad sees only one way out of the situation: through an encounter with the Living Truth, a.k.a. God. “To know him—not as you know a historical figure like Winston Churchill but as you know your best friend or spouse—is to be alive to truth and dead to fear.�[3] Therefore, if we struggle with fears similar to the ones that lurk at the heart of The Devil’s Rejects, Brad is saying the best solution is not to confront them through such films but to bring those fears before God instead, to ask him to reveal the lies behind them, to replace those lies with the truth.

So where does that leave me, a Christian screenwriter with a horror film about to hit theaters sometime in 2006? Does Brad’s book render much of what Scott Derrickson and others have said about the redeeming qualities of horror movies into nothing more than a puddle of self-justifying spiritual gobbledy gook? Should I start repenting now? And what about my own fascination with the genre? Am I really violating a spiritual taboo every time I watch such a film, even a fairly tame horror flick like the 1932 classic White Zombie, from which Rob Zombie takes his name? Or could there still be a place for such movies, even ones as graphic as The Devil’s Rejects?

All I can say in response is this: The older I get, the less confidence I have in any sort of hard and fast moral prescriptions. The minute you say horror movies are bad, ten people will pop up with ten reasons why horror movies are actually good for you, and vice versa. In addition, horror films exist on a spectrum. On one end are those that are merely frightening (like my film). On the other end are those that are little more than immoral exploitations of blood, sex, and gore. (The Devil’s Rejects teeters on the brink of such a definition.) Consequently, what may be true for one type of horror film may not be true for another.

So I’m going to stick with the Apostle Paul and ride the fence on this one. All things—even horror movies—are permissible, but are they beneficial? That is a matter best left between you and God. I think it all comes down to the type of horror films you choose to watch and why you choose to watch them. Are you merely looking for a thrill, much like people seek from riding a roller coaster or skydiving? Are you looking for a diversion that feeds your spiritual impulses as well as your desire to be entertained? Are you, like me, seeking to understand what our fascination with such films says about us as a culture or yourself as an individual? Or is your attraction to the dark side a symptom of something more ominous, an appetite or desire that is eating away at your soul rather than building it up? Only you can answer such questions, and only you and God will know if you are telling the truth when you do.

As for me, despite some of its more gruesome moments, I am very thankful to have seen The Devil’s Rejects, if only for the opportunity it afforded me to work through these issues. I hope my own attempt at honest self-evaluation will help you work through these issues as well.

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[1]http://www.killology.com/art_psych_trauma.htm.
[2] Brad Jersak. Fear No Evil: Overcoming the Culture of Fear (Abbotsford: Fresh Wind Press, 2005), p. 70.
[3] Ibid, p. 74.

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film

Green Lantern No. 2

—Overview by Kevin Miller
—Back to Comix Index

Apologies to Mr. Johns...?

Okay, Comic-Con has come and gone, and it’s time to get back to business. After sounding off about the dearth of talent in comic publishing today as well as the absence of any sort of innovative storytelling in the first issue of this series, do I have better news this time around? Keeping in mind that my good friend Maurice Broaddus may be listening, I will try to keep the following review as positive as possible…

Issue two picks up where that last issue left off. The Terminator-type alien blows up a busload of people while Hal Jordan hits it off with the test pilot babe he just rescued. Of course, doing so brings him smack into contact with his past—I’m beginning to think the entire first part of this series will be about Hal Jordan coming to terms with his past—in the form of General Stone, who received a strong left hook from Jordan the last time they met. Turns out the plane the test pilot was flying employed alien technology, but Stone won’t tell Jordan where it came from.

As Jordan tries to get to the bottom of things, another alien threat appears, a Manhunter no less (a 3.3 billion-year-old android created by the Guardians of the Universe prior to the formation of the Green Lantern Corps.). Of course, it immediately attempts to destroy Hal Jordan. Just when things are getting ugly, the Terminator-wannabe shows up, blasts the Manhunter, and then goes after Jordan’s scalp himself. In the end, it is revealed that this creature is a Manhunter as well, although he looks like a new and improved version. More info to come in future issues, obviously.

I have to admit I didn’t despise this issue nearly as much as the first one, however, it still reeked far too much of melodrama for my liking. The story just moves so slowly with nothing really happening. It’s something I’m noticing in a number of comic books these days (and George Lucas’s films, for that matter). Writers tend to draw things out far longer than they should. The art is also journeyman stuff, not even attempting to take things beyond anything we’ve seen before. I guess that is my main beef with this series (which I only plan to stick to until issue three, which will complete the three-part opener). It’s just so darn (yawn) conventional. Johns is hitting all the right notes, I suppose, but I just don’t feel any soul coming through.

Spiritually speaking, something I found interesting this time ‘round is Jordan’s struggle to resume his role as Green Lantern. While Hal’s brother Jim is glad to have Hal back (see the mini-series Green Lantern: Rebirth to find out where Hal was), he isn’t too crazy about him flying around trying to save the universe again. But Hal remains dedicated to his role as Green Lantern, despite Jim and other temptations to the contrary.

Hal’s devotion to his higher calling as well as the opposition he faces from those around him is familiar ground for anyone who has ever attempted to live out his or her faith in a serious way, whether Christian, Muslim, Jewish or otherwise. People of faith are always a threat to the status quo, because they tend to live life according to a different set of values and goals than the rest of the pack. Sometimes those values and goals are in alignment with those of society, and sometimes they challenge them outright. While it is often tempting to buckle under the pressure of those who seek to discourage us, Hal Jordan’s situation is a good example of why this is a bad idea. Hal may not fit the mould, but were he to lay down his ring for good, earth would be left defenseless in the face of alien attack (barring the intervention of Superman or some other DC hotshot, of course). Hal can see this, even if the other people can’t, and that higher reality is what keeps him going.

In the same way, if people of faith were to abandon the pursuit of truth at the slightest sign of trouble, there is no telling how that would imperil the earth. As people who have also glimpsed a higher reality, it is incumbent on us to act on that information rather than give in to the shortsighted opinions and fears of those around us.

So take a page out of Hal Jordan’s book, folks. Don’t worry about what other people say, just put your ring back on and get out there. But please, please aim to make your own life story far more innovative and compelling than Mr. Johns has depicted Hal Jordan’s. (Sorry, Maurice, but I tried really, really hard to be nice…)

—Overview by Kevin Miller
—Back to Comix Index

Movies and the Meaning of Life

—Book Overview
—Main book review index

(Kimberly A. Blessing and Paul A. Tudico, eds. Chicago: Open Court Publishing, 2005)

In the introduction to his essay on American Beauty, philosopher George T. Hole (one of the contributors to this book) says the film “does more than entertain us with yet another story of a man going through a mid-life crisis. It offers us a philosophical challenge, not simply to intellectualize about the meaning of the movie, but to examine our assumptions about the meaning of our own lives.� I could say much the same thing about this book. While it is definitely entertaining, and quoting from it certainly will make you sound more intelligent than you are, its greatest value lies in its ability to use film as a window into the soul. Reading this book won’t just give you a greater appreciation for cinema; it will also give you a greater appreciation for life.

In their effort to broaden our understanding of life and the movies, editors Kimberly A. Blessing and Paul A. Tudico bring together a sizeable team of philosophers who use some of the most popular, controversial, and memorable films of recent years to help us reflect on five of life’s most important questions: 1) What is reality and how can I know it? 2) How can I find my true identity? 3) What the significance of my interactions with others? 4) What’s the point of my life? 5) How ought I to live my life? The book is divided into five parts or “takes,� each based around one of the five questions.

One thing I found appealing about this book is that the authors did not restrict themselves to foreign, underground, or arty films that no one has ever heard of. Contrary to what you may think when you hear the term “philosopher,� the authors aren’t snobby at all. They look at controversial films like Pulp Fiction and Fight Club, comedies like Crimes and Misdemeanors and Groundhog Day, sci-fi films like Minority Report and Spiderman, as well as more serious, dramatic works like Shadowlands and Contact. The good news is, there’s something for everyone here, no matter what your taste in film. And if you’ve never cared much for philosophy, that just might change after you see how viewing a film through philosophical eyes can deepen your appreciation of the art form and life as a whole.

Something else I appreciated about this book was the opportunity it afforded me to revisit some of my favorite films from a completely different perspective. In this regard, my favorite chapter has to be Michael Silberstein's essay “Grace, Fate, and Accident in Pulp Fiction.� While many critics—especially Christian critics—wrote off Tarantino’s film as nothing more than the soft, squishy stuff from which it takes its name, I have always suspected there was far more going on beneath the surface of this picture than most people give it credit for. Spence’s essay more than confirms my suspicion, revealing Pulp Fiction to be a masterpiece of modern cinema and Tarantino as far more than a former video store clerk who happened to strike it rich. Other standout chapters for me include Michael Baur’s chapter on Memento, Shai Biderman’s essay on Kill Bill, Volumes 1 and 2, and Nir Eisikovits and Shai Biderman’s chapter on Minority Report.

While I certainly got more out of the chapters that reflected on films I had already seen, for the most part, it didn’t really matter which point of entry I chose, because each chapter—and each film—had something profound to say about the human condition. My only real critique of the book is that it excluded one of the most popular genres around: horror. I would have loved to see an essay or two on zombie films, slasher films, or serial killer films, for example. I am certain that such movies (and our fascination with them) have much to say about the big questions of life. In addition, a chapter that looked at animé would also have been appreciated. But perhaps the authors are merely saving up such essays for the sequel—if and when they decide to write one, that is. (I certainly hope that they do.)

This book argues that, as with most things in life, movies are definitely worth a second look. I agree, and I encourage you to take a first look and then a second look at this book as well.

—Book Overview
—Main book review index

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film

In terms of my childhood influences, Roald Dahl occupied the same rare air as J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Dr. Seuss. He was a master storyteller; one whose work I savored much like Charlie Bucket savored his Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight chocolate bar on his birthday each year—bit by precious bit. Needless to say, then, when someone like Tim Burton ventures to bring a book like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to the big screen, for me and countless other former children, he is treading on holy ground. Thankfully, even though Burton’s account of the gospel of Wonka is eerily unorthodox, he avoids falling into full-blown heresy. I wouldn’t necessarily call the changes he has made to the story improvements, but Burton’s film is definitely an intriguing adaptation of Dahl’s beloved children’s tale.

One of the most significant and fascinating deviations from the book is Burton’s characterization of Willy Wonka. As written by Dahl, Wonka was a mysterious, delightfully childlike man with a heart like Santa Claus and a face like Uncle Sam. He was also a genius, a “magician with chocolate,� according to Charlie’s Grandpa Joe. In Burton’s film, Wonka is still a genius, but he has more in common with Howard Hughes or Michael Jackson than Santa Claus. And his face, well… Let’s just say it’s more disturbing than comforting. Burton’s Wonka is also childlike in his own way. But rather than portray him as an old man who has managed to retain his sense of childlike wonder, Burton depicts him as more of a man-child who hasn’t really gotten over the trauma of his early years but who doesn’t know how to grow up either. He is clumsy, gawky, unsure how to relate to others, and uncertain if he even wants to. He doesn’t seem to like children, so it’s a wonder he ever issues the invitation for the children to tour his chocolate factory at all. But perhaps it’s his way of reaching out, a desperate cry for help from a troubled man who realizes he is losing his grip on reality and that somehow only the wisdom of a child can bring him back.

In these and other ways, Burton’s take on Wonka couldn’t be more different from Dahl’s original vision. However, even though I regard myself as somewhat of a Dahl purist, I don’t see these changes as intrinsically negative. Not only have Burton and actor Johnny Depp managed to create an entirely original character who is captivating in his own right, the choices they made also enabled them to showcase Dahl’s delightfully wicked sense of humor, which is one of the most attractive features of his work. In fact, my only real complaint about the film is the superfluous backstory that explains how Willy Wonka became the troubled genius we see on screen. Mystery, says screenwriter William Goldman, is one of the key ingredients of an effective character. While Burton’s Wonka definitely starts out as an enjoyable enigma, eventually it is revealed that he is nothing more than the product of a (yawn) troubled childhood. As I’ve stated elsewhere in regard to George Lucas’s laborious exposé of Darth Vader’s origins in Star Wars Episodes I–III, sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone.

That said; Burton’s ambiguous depiction of Willy Wonka does lead to some interesting spiritual reflections. But before I get to those, a bit of set-up: In terms of structure, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory bears a strong resemblance to C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. In Lewis’s tale, a group of people gets the chance to take a bus from hell to heaven. If they like it there, they will be allowed to stay. If not, they are free to get return to the dreary, rainy place from whence they came. Strangely enough, after a short stint in Paradise, one-by-one, each passenger decides they were much happier down below where they were free to pursue their vices, so back on the bus they go. Only one character decides to stay, and he is gloriously transformed as a result.

Similarly, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, five children and their guardians are invited to leave the dreary, hopelessness of their lives (hell) and visit Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (heaven). At the end of the tour, Wonka (an admittedly bizarre stand-in for God) promises that one of the children will receive a prize far greater than they can imagine. However, as in The Great Divorce, one-by-one, the children fall victim to their vices—whether gluttony, greed, pride or anger—turn their back on Wonka and the factory and return to the world from whence they came. In the end, only Charlie remains. By virtue of his stalwart character, he has proven himself worthy to receive the prize, which is nothing less than Wonka’s glorious chocolate factory itself!

However, in a surprising departure from the original story, rather than give the factory to Charlie outright, Wonka reveals one final stipulation: To inherit the factory, Charlie must say goodbye to his family forever. Suddenly, what appeared to be a gift from God looks more like a deal with the devil. Charlie refuses, and Wonka goes away angry. But he is also troubled. How could Charlie turn down such an offer? Never having experienced familial love himself, he simply cannot understand Charlie’s motivation. Only when Charlie helps Wonka reunite with his own father does he finally see what Charlie was on to.

To my mind, Wonka’s surprising about-face is an accurate reflection of our current feelings of uncertainty toward God. In Dahl’s book, Wonka is similar to the version of God I heard about in Sunday school—all knowing, all loving, and so forth. In Burton’s film, however, Wonka is nasty, confused, and socially awkward—hardly what you would call divine attributes. At times, you can’t help but wonder, is Wonka God or is he the devil? Are his Oompa Loompas angels or demons? Is the chocolate factory heaven or hell? Should the children love Wonka or fear him?

These questions aren’t much different from the ones many of us ask about God. Does God, like Wonka, take delight in seeing us fall victim to our vices? Is he some sort of eccentric misfit who needs us as much or more, as we need him? Could it be that, like Wonka, God has a thing or two to learn from us as well? Can he be trusted? At times, we may see him as unable or unwilling to relate to common people like ourselves. We may also suspect that, like Wonka at the opening of the factory tour, God is just putting on a show for his own amusement—and not a very good show at that.

Competing depictions to the contrary, I prefer to think of God in terms of Dahl’s original description of Wonka, as a kindly, self-assured being with an eye to celebrating my redemption rather than glorying in my defeat. That has certainly been my experience of him, anyway. I also realize that just because God has offered me an invitation to Paradise does not guarantee I will be there to enjoy it with him after I die. Like Charlie, if I hope to inherit the prize, I must turn away from my vices rather than allow them to consume me. I must devote myself to virtue today. Otherwise, like the characters in The Great Divorce, I am certain I will have no interest in doing so after I die either, and not even God will be able to convince me otherwise.

MOVIE
—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

BOOK
—Review: WonkaMania

—Blog: Tom Price
—Blog: Jacob Sahms

Fantastic Four

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

Although I tend to avoid discovering too much about how a film is faring critically before I see it, with Fantastic Four, I was picking up a sour smell on the wind long before I entered the multiplex. One critic I overheard on the radio referred to it as “a vile disease.� Another critic (Maurice Broaddus, who had seen an advance screening) sent me an e-mail saying, “Lower your expectations.� These initial responses caused me to seriously question whether I should even bother seeing the film. But I was really looking forward to watching a movie that night, and I had already made plans with friends, so off I went.

I think it was about thirty minutes into the screening when I turned to my friend and said, “You know, this really isn’t all that bad.� Don’t take my comment the wrong way: Fantastic Four wasn’t all that good, either, but it certainly wasn’t a vile disease. Perhaps Maurice’s warning had the desired effect: I walked into the theater with my expectations around my ankles, but I could probably have worn them at least knee-high.

As the film progressed, however, I realized my expectations weren’t just riding low; I may have actually put on the wrong pair. Still smoldering in the afterglow of a genre-defining film like Batman Begins, I, like most critics, had expected Fantastic Four to follow in the Caped Crusader’s footsteps by offering us a gritty, sophisticated story that was more concerned with exploring deep, philosophical issues than portraying fisticuffs and budget-busting CGI shots. In short, I expected a comic book film for adults. Fantastic Four didn’t seem to be going in that direction at all though. Where Batman Begins was gritty, Fantastic Four was goofy. Unlike Bruce Wayne, Dr. Reed Richards and co. weren’t at all interested in pondering deep, philosophical issues. They didn’t even seem too concerned with fighting evil, for that matter. They spent most of their time fighting each other. And the filmmakers never once shied away from throwing in a cool CGI effect, just for the fun of it. It took a while, but I finally came to see that Fantastic Four wasn’t a comic book film for adults after all. It was a comic book film for kids. (Imagine that!) Once I was able to make this paradigm shift, suddenly, the movie didn’t seem all that bad.

Before any Fantastic Four purists jump all over me, let me say this: I feel your pain. I’ve never really been into the Fantastic Four, but if Batman had received the same sort of cinematic treatment as Ben Grimm and the gang, I would have been hopping mad. This film isn’t exactly a mockery of Marvel Comics’ flagship title, but it’s only one or two notches above camp. The acting is way over the top, the characters are painted with bold, bright colors, the script is overly didactic, and the entire production is about as subtle as Al Qaeda when making a point. (I'm thinking in particular about the wedding ring on the bridge scene here.) But what else would you expect from a movie for kids? Sure, I was hoping as much as anyone else that Fantastic Four would deliver two more hours of sophisticated fanboy bliss. But post-pubescent males with too much time and money on their hands aren’t the only target market in the world (although we are a very lucrative market, Mr. Winter). Kids need their share of summer viewing fun, too. And, as one of my companions said, “If I think about this movie from my six-year-old son’s point of view, he would absolutely love it.� I’m sorry, die-hard fans, but this movie just wasn’t made for you.

So, even though Fantastic Four was not what any of us expected, I don’t think it’s nearly as bad as most critics are making it out to be either. Sure, it doesn’t hold a candle to Batman Begins or the Spiderman films in terms of cultural significance or artistic merit, but, all Pixar films excluded, neither do most films aimed primarily at children. For me, the acerbic critical response to this film is a good reminder that a work of art—even blatantly commercial pieces like this film—should always be judged according to the creator’s original intentions, not our own thoughts about what the work should or could be. Unfortunately, that means I should probably stop complaining about Tim Burton’s take on Batman. Heck, it's only taken me sixteen years to learn that lesson...

In terms of spiritual significance, one of the main things I got from this film is how power reveals character. The relationship between power and character is a recurring theme throughout the work of Marvel pioneer Stan Lee (who had a hand in creating not only the Fantastic Four but also Spiderman, the Incredible Hulk, the X-Men, and Daredevil, among others). As with most of Lee’s characters, when the people in Fantastic Four receive their special powers, personality traits that were already bubbling just beneath the surface suddenly become magnified, either for good or ill. Johnny Storm, for instance, was always hungry for attention. As the Human Torch, now he can gain the attention of the entire world. But will he find a more socially responsible use for his powers? Victor Von Doom, by way of contrast, has always harbored a murderous intent toward Reed Richards or anyone else who stood in his way. Once he is transformed by the cosmic storm, he can finally act on his murderous thoughts without consequence, and act he does. The question is, can he be stopped?

This isn’t much different from what happens to us when we gain some kind of new power, whether money, position or ability. When our capacity to fulfill our inner longings increases exponentially, we are forced to confront some tough questions, such as: Were we living according to the values we espoused simply because we couldn’t afford to act on our true desires, or do we really believe what we say we believe? Now that we have the power to do anything—or much more than we could before—what will we do? Who will we become? Will we use our power to help others? Or will we keep it to ourselves? Exactly what are our deepest desires anyway? As this movie illustrates, how we answer such questions will determine if our lives lead to something truly fantastic or if we wind up walking the road to doom. It also shows that we probably shouldn't wait until those "super" powers come along before we start asking them. Otherwise, we probably won't be too happy with the character our new powers reveal.

—Overview
—Photos
—About this Film
—Spiritual Connections

"The Insiders" (Teen Titans/Outsiders mini-series)

—Overview
—Back to Comix Index

What makes you, you? Do things like DNA determine the type of person you become, or is it more a matter of nurture combined with the choices you make along the way? Also, can we ever engage evil in a way that is not personal? And if we can, should we? These are some of the questions that lurk at the heart of “The Insiders,� a four-part mini-series that spans Teen Titans #24–25 and Outsiders #24–25.

The story opens in Teen Titans #24 with Superboy despairing about his origins. Recently, he discovered he is not a native of Krypton, as he was originally told, he is actually a clone composed of equal parts Lex Luthor and equal parts Superman. A toxic combination to say the least!

Superboy’s main concern is whether or not he has a soul. He’s put the question to Raven, the “spiritual� member of the Titans, but she couldn’t give him a straight answer. With some encouragement from Robin, Superboy finally decides to break the news to his teammates. However, just as he is about to do so, disaster strikes in the form of a supra-sonic message that flicks a switch inside Superboy, turning him into an agent of evil. Instead of spilling the beans to his fellow Titans, Superboy tries to kill them instead.

A protracted battle ensues, during which the Titans fight to stay alive while trying to figure out what the heck is going on. They try to reason with Superboy, appeal to his emotional side, but nothing gets through. Just when it looks like all hope is lost, Superboy is called away by another supra-sonic message.

Seizing the moment, Robin makes a frantic call for help to the Outsiders, another super next gen superhero group. Unfortunately, rather than improve this situation, this actually makes things worse by triggering a similar transformation in Indigo, a “female� member of the Outsiders who is actually a robot from the future. “I am Brainiac 8. I am your destruction,� she announces. Apparently, both the Titans and the Outsiders should have done a better job of pre-screening their members.

The storyline picks up in Outsiders #24 with a battle similar to the one between Superboy and the Titans. The Outsiders also try to appeal to Indigo on an emotional level, but it appears the Indigo they knew has disappeared without leaving a forwarding address. Once again, just when things are looking dark, Indigo is spirited away.

Realizing the two incidents are probably linked, the Titans and the Outsiders get together to figure out what they’re going to do about it. Before they resolve anything, however, they are attacked by an army of Superman robots. The final pages of this issue reveal Luthor and Brainiac as the masterminds behind these events. Their mission? Nothing less than the eradication of an entire generation of superheroes.

Teen Titans #25 begins by giving us a hint about Luthor’s motives. Throughout his battles with Superman, he has come to realize that although Kryptonite and magic may harm Superman, they will not destroy him. “You have to reach deeper. You have to find something he loves—or create something he will love,� says Luthor. Then you have to use that thing to destroy the Justice League’s so-called “children.� That will be what finally brings Superman down. And that is precisely why Luthor chose to create Superboy.

From there, we leap into the battle with the Superman robots. Never mind that it took only one of these things to kill Donna Troy. The Titans and Outsiders reduce them to nothing more than a pile of spare parts with only minimal damage to themselves.

Then we get a peek into Brainiac’s plans. Unlike Luthor, he is actually attempting to change history, to prevent an event that could potentially set back his home world of Colu thousands of years. To achieve his goal, he has to make Superman’s home—Earth—all but uninhabitable.

Back at ground zero, Robin finally breaks the news about Superboy’s origins. Needless to say, everyone is stunned. Once again, the Titans and Outsiders debate about which team should tackle this problem, eventually deciding that they both have a stake in it. Robin is the one who manages to convince the Outsiders to let the Titans stay on the case. “We’re not the Justice League, Robins says, “Our relationships are important… If one of us is in trouble, we don’t stop until they’re not.� This argument appeals to Nightwing most of all. Even though he left the Titans and joined the Outsiders because he didn’t his battle against the bad guys to get personal, Robin reminds him that there’s no escaping it. “When you’re talking about saving lives, everything you do is personal.�

As if to emphasize the point, Luthor shows up with Superboy and sends him after the Titans and Outsiders like an attack dog. This time, the two superhero teams manage to subdue Superboy long enough to reason with him. However, realizing he has lost control of his creation, Luthor utters the magic words, and Superboy becomes a monster once again. Then Indigo shows up and takes Wonder Girl hostage, warning her former lover Shift that the only way to defeat her is to kill her.

Outsiders #25 pauses to reflect on a tender moment that took place between Shift and Indigo three weeks earlier. While lying in bed together, Indigo presents Shift with an artificial rose she has made for him. The question is, just because it wasn’t created through conventional means, does that make it any less real? Because if it does, that could potentially mean that Shift, who was created from a remnant of Rex Mason’s (Metamorpho’s) body, and Indigo, who is a robot, aren’t real either—neither, by extension, is Superboy.

After that, it’s back to the battle. After getting hit hard enough by Wonder Girl, Superboy returns to his sense once again. This forces Luthor to step and do his own dirty work for a change. But he is stopped by Superboy, the ultimate triumph of nurture over nature. “I’m not you! I’ll never be you!� Superboy says.

When Starfire takes out both Brainiac, she manages to eliminate Luthor as well. That leaves Indigo/Brainiac 8 as the only remaining threat. Like Superboy, all it takes is an assault of colossal proportion to finally bring her back to her senses—but only for a moment. As it turns out, the personality everyone knew as Indigo was merely a sub-program of Brainiac 8 designed to make her appear human so she could gain the heroes’ trust long enough to assess their weaknesses. That sub-program surfaces just long enough to tell Shift how she can be defeated—through death. The two share a final tender moment before Shift ends her life in a way that is as symbolic as it is painless—by transforming her body from machine into flesh.

With the battle over, Nightwing announces that he is leaving the superhero business for good. “It wasn’t supposed to be personal,� he says, “but it is.� But all hope is not lost. The epilogue hints that even death can be cheated, and what better way to prove it than by the return of Donna Troy? (Her “resurrection� is detailed in the mini-series The Return of Donna Troy.)

As someone of questionable origins myself—I was born out of wedlock and given up for adoption—I have faced many of the same questions asked by Shift, Superboy, and Indigo in this mini-series. Do I really deserve to exist in the same way others do? Does the fact that I was born through unconventional means make me any less human, any less deserving of a normal life? For much of my existence, I believed that it did. Although I was raised by loving parents in a relatively conventional family situation, I couldn’t escape the feeling that there was something wrong with me; that I didn’t fit somehow; that I didn’t deserve to live, even. I’m certain that some people reading this review have felt the same way.

For this reason, I really appreciated the way writers Geoff Johns and Judd Winick resolve this issue during the love scene between Shift and Indigo. They both decide that even though the facts don’t line up, they are going to trust what their feelings are telling them anyway. They both feel love; therefore, it—they—must be real. End of story. Eventually, I had to come to the same conclusion. Even though the facts of my origin are somewhat foggy (I still don’t know who my father is), they are outweighed by the overwhelming sense that I exist for a purpose. Although my parents’ perceived my birth as an accident, God did not see it that way at all. For him, my birth was a moment of immense significance, purpose, and joy. How do I know this? Because I have experienced some of God’s delight over my life, and it is a greater affirmation of my right to exist than any mere factual account of my birth could ever be. Even if I had been born through conventional means, I am certain I would still feel lost and alone if I had not experienced God’s affirmation of my existence on an emotional level.

Beyond issues of origin and identity, I was also intrigued by the question of whether or not evil can ever be engaged effectively on an impersonal level. It’s a telling detail that the Outsiders—other than Shift, that is—had an easier time engaging Indigo in battle than the Titans had going up against Superboy. Not only was Indigo non-human, her background was still such a mystery that there wasn’t nearly as much at stake when she turned against them. The sense of personal betrayal was not as deep, the emotional consequences of her potential demise not nearly so unappealing.

For Shift, however, Indigo’s betrayal couldn’t have been more personal. Having always felt so separate from everyone else, he had finally found someone with whom he could share his life on the deepest level. Now he was faced with having to destroy the very life that had become so interconnected with his. Not only that, but he had to reconsider the possibility once that he had fallen in love with nothing more than a highly sophisticated computer program. It’s Blade Runner all over again.

What Winick and Johns appear to be saying here is that no matter how hard we try to portray the enemy as something different than ourselves—as a machine, even—there is no escaping the fact that we are all connected on the most intimate of levels. Therefore, taking the life of another is never an impersonal matter, even though we may try, like Nightwing, to convince ourselves otherwise. When describing the church, the Apostle Paul refers to it as one body with many parts. “If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it� (1 Corinthians 12:26). I think Johns and Winick are saying the same thing about the human race, and I think they're dead on.

Featuring some incredible artwork (especially Matthew Clark and Jeremy Cox’s work in Teen Titans) as well as an engaging storyline that attempts to grapple with important issues, “The Insiders� mini-series has definitely put Teen Titans and Outsiders on my monthly “must buy� list.

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