Flightplan

—1. Overview (multimedia)
—2. Overview Basic (dial up speed)
—3. Reviews and Blogs
—4. Cast and Crew
—5. Photo Pages
—6. Trailers, Clips, DVDs, Books, Soundtrack
—7. Posters
—8. Production Notes (pdf)
—9. Spiritual Connections

Can you stick to your beliefs even when circumstances seem to contradict them and everyone around you thinks your nuts? Aerospace engineer Kyle Pratt faces this test to the nth degree when her six-year-old daughter apparently goes missing midway through an overnight flight from Berlin to New York.

How could such a thing happen, you ask? Perhaps you’ve never been introduced to the E-474 aircraft, capable of carrying up to 425 passengers plus crew. In addition to several levels of comfortable coach seating (your first tip that this is a fictional plane), a first class section to die for, and even a glittering bar and lounge, the aircraft contains enough secret doorways and passages to qualify as a funhouse at your local theme park.

So, kidnapping a little girl and hiding her in the belly of such a beast is possible. But why would anyone do it? And why this particular girl? That’s exactly what the crew and passengers are asking as Pratt’s anxiety intensifies. Their skepticism seems entirely justified. Not only is the girl’s name missing from the passenger manifest, no one on board can remember seeing her. Add the fact that Pratt just lost her husband due to an apparent suicide (she’s actually accompanying his body back to New York for burial), and the case for Pratt being nothing more than a delusional, grieving widow seems all but closed—or is it? Not as far as Pratt is concerned. Logic and circumstances aside, she is determined to find her daughter before the plane lands, leading to an escalation of events that can best be described as “Panic Room on a plane.�

Pratt’s situation brings to mind the opening lines of Rudyard Kipling’s classic poem “If�: “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you; if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too…� This almost sounds like a backdoor definition of faith, a belief in something that allows you to transcend circumstances and influences to the point where you are willing to sacrifice everything for something you cannot see, hear, taste or feel. Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as “being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.� Pratt certainly exemplifies this virtue throughout her ordeal. Few of us ever have our beliefs tested to the same degree as she does in this film, but its nice to think we would all hold up as well as her.

—1. Overview (multimedia)
—2. Overview Basic (dial up speed)
—3. Reviews and Blogs
—4. Cast and Crew
—5. Photo Pages
—6. Trailers, Clips, DVDs, Books, Soundtrack
—7. Posters
—8. Production Notes (pdf)
—9. Spiritual Connections

The Constant Gardener

In terms of decoding what is at first glance a rather unusual title, one of the most poignant scenes in this film is a brief homemade video during which Tessa films her sleeping husband Justin—a British diplomat stationed in Kenya—while joking about how he is probably dreaming of a “world without weeds.� No doubt, she isn’t far from the truth, seeing as Justin devotes most of his spare time to caring for his immaculate garden. But can his dream ever become reality? And is his love of horticulture—and his need to eradicate weeds—a healthy way of coping with life? Or does it represent something else, a retreat from life perhaps, a denial of the weed-infested reality that is all around him? Tessa’s tone definitely implies the latter.

And Tessa should know. In contrast to Justin’s reticence, she has taken it upon herself to root some of the weeds of injustice that Justin and his cohorts at Britain’s High Commission in Kenya have chosen to ignore—a fact that irritates the High Commission to no end. When Tessa catches wind of a plot by a multinational drug company to use Kenyans as Guinea pigs for a new tuberculosis drug in exchange for free medication, she and a Kenyan doctor named Arnold attempt to blow the whistle. Not long afterwards, Tessa and Arnold are found murdered in a remote region of northern Kenya. Stunned by his wife’s death, Justin is finally drawn out of the safety of his garden and into the jungle of the real world as he attempts to discover who killed Tessa and why and what the true nature of her relationship with Arnold really was.

During his journey, Justin unearths a twisted trail of corruption and greed. But he uncovers far more than mere facts. He also discovers a love he never knew he had, a love that frees him to finally become the person he has always longed to be. Despite Justin’s success at solving the mystery of Tessa’s death, a pall of tragedy continues to hang over his life, because even though he has found the truth, it still seems like too little, too late. Then again, perhaps a bit of truth is better than no truth at all.

Choosing to set such a personal story against a backdrop of institutional corruption works well for a couple of reasons. First, it adds several layers of depth to what could have easily been a one-dimensional diatribe against the evils purportedly carried out by multinational pharmaceutical companies. Second, it roots this larger issue within the lives of particular individuals, illustrating how none of us can absolve ourselves of guilt when it comes to such meta-crimes. Even if we are not willingly participating in them, could we be tacitly ignoring them—even profiting from them—as the British were, or perhaps hiding out in our own climate-controlled version of Justin’s garden and denying their existence? It seems that very few of us are like Tessa, actively seeking the truth knowing full well that the quest for justice could lead to the sacrifice of all we hold dear. Few of us value the lives of our neighbors so highly and our own lives so little.

However, this film seems to suggest that as long as we cling to self-interest and ignore or deny such crimes, not only will injustice persist; it will hamper us from achieving the fullness of humanity for which all of us long, both as individuals and as a society. Only when we are brave enough to accept that the world is full of weeds and then set about rooting them out will we ever become the people we were created to be.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose

Not since The Third Miracle (1999) have I seen a film that does such an effective job of challenging our presuppositions about the supernatural. The Exorcism of Emily Rose doesn’t exactly argue that the spiritual world exists, just that we would be unwise to place it beyond the realm of possibility, that the same body of evidence can potentially give rise to more than one legitimate explanation. The main difference between the two films is that the characters in The Third Miracle were looking for evidence of the holy, while those in Emily Rose are seeking truth of a far darker kind.

The film is structured around the trial of Father Richard Moore, a priest charged with negligence resulting in the death of Emily Rose, a nineteen-year-old college freshman who believed she was possessed by demons. When Emily first sought help with her affliction, she was diagnosed as having a combination of epilepsy and psychosis and was administered drugs accordingly. After these drugs failed to alleviate her symptoms, Emily—a devout Catholic—turned to Father Moore for help. Upon examining Emily and witnessing some of her manifestations, he became convinced that she was possessed and sought permission to perform the “Rituale Romanum,� a formal exorcism rite sanctioned by the Roman Catholic Church. Despite Father Moore’s efforts, Emily’s condition worsened, and she died shortly thereafter, with the official cause of death stated as “malnutrition� and Father Moore named as the man responsible. Once the trial begins, the film bounces back and forth between the court proceedings and the horrifying events that led up to them, making this film perhaps the first ever “courtroom horror," according to director Scott Derrickson.

Father Moore is defended by Erin Bruner, a self-proclaimed agnostic who sees the case initially as nothing more than an opportunity to make full partner in her law firm. However, as the trial progresses, Erin’s interest in the case takes on a far more personal tone. And when she realizes there is no way she can overcome the prosecution’s medical evidence head-on, she decides to take a different tack and attempts to prove that a spiritual explanation for Emily’s affliction and death is just as valid as a medical one. In this sense at least, this film could have been called The Conversion of Erin Bruner, because her experience definitely brings her one step closer to acknowledging the existence of the supernatural—or at least acknowledging that there is always more than one way to interpret the same body of evidence.

In the past, women were burned at the stake for being possessed, which was horrible. But in her defense of Father Moore, Erin suggests that perhaps we have gone too far in the opposite direction. As this film demonstrates so skillfully, taken on their own, the facts prove nothing. It is how the facts are interpreted that really matters. Unfortunately, using Occam’s Razor, we have completely ruled out the supernatural as a valid type of interpretation. Scientific, psychological, and medical explanations are all that matter. We tend to think of this as progress, as an emergence from the superstition and fear that plagued people in times gone by. But Erin begins to wonder if people in the past actually had a clearer sense of reality than we do now. Maybe the supernatural wasn’t just a product of our imagination after all. It’s still a significant part of reality, but we have just trained ourselves not to see it. Facts are still important, and seeking the simplest and most rational explanation for them is essential. But when it comes to deciding which types of interpretations will and will not be permitted, perhaps a little agnosticism isn’t such a bad thing.

Despite perhaps one too many “cheap scares,� The Exorcism of Emily Rose definitely earns a place alongside Rosemary’s Baby, The Exorcist, The Omen, and other films in the “smart horror� genre. (After all, what’s a horror movie without a few cheap scares?) It’s a frightening film, but more than that, it is a film that forces us to question the very nature of reality. Even if you think you’ve already answered that question for yourself, I encourage you not to close the case until you’ve considered the arguments presented in this film.

Green Lantern #3

When I reviewed the first issue in this new series by DC Comics, I admit to being a bit hard on it (see my review and subsequent apology to writer Geoff Johns elsewhere on this site). After reading my scathing critique, fellow HollywoodJesus reviewer Maurice Broaddus urged me to be patient, saying that he usually allows a title to develop the storyline over three or four issues before deciding whether or not to give it the thumbs up or thumbs down. In this case (as in others), Maurice turned out to be correct. While I couldn’t find much to love about the first or second issue in this series, by the time I read the third issue, I began to think it might just have some potential after all.

Issue three opens with Green Lantern/Hal Jordan at the mercy of the next-gen Manhunter. Just when he is about to bite it, the Manhunter takes off in pursuit of its primary directive, the destruction of an old Manhunter android. Realizing the resulting battle could set off an explosion that would potentially kill thousands of people, Green Lantern devises a way to avert the disaster, even though the power charge in his ring is nearly at zero. When Jordan returns to Earth, not only does he regain the respect of his old flight commander, General Stone, he discovers that his heroic example has also inspired others—namely, Jordan’s brother—to step out with boldness rather than hunker down in fear. This inspires Jordan, in turn, making him think that perhaps resuming his identity as Green Lantern wasn’t a mistake after all.

What really touched me about this issue were the final few pages, where Jordan asks, if fear is the strongest emotion in the universe, what’s the point of being a hero at all? What’s the point of living? Sure, we can remove a particular fear, but sooner or later, it is bound to be replaced by another. And then what?

Thankfully, Jordan realizes that even though fear may be ever-present, it is not all-powerful. Fear may loom large at first, but it quickly shrinks in the face of other emotions, such as hope and courage. We have seen this truth born out time and again, especially in the wake of recent manmade and natural disasters. And yet, we must remind ourselves of this truth each time a new source of fear comes along. Otherwise we risk being lost or consumed by the fog of our own insecurities.

Apologies to Mr. Johns Part Two: A Geek Repents

There’s nothing like getting a letter from an author you’ve critiqued to make you stop and listen to yourself for a moment. And there’s nothing like hearing your own voice braying back at you like a jackass from the void to make you think that perhaps you should shut up for a while—or at least seek to make things right.

Exhibit A: My review of the first issue of the new Green Lantern series, written by the über-prolific Geoff Johns, who is also responsible for scripting or co-scripting JLA, The Teen Titans, The Flash, and the upcoming Infinite Crisis maxi-series, among other titles. As indicated in my review, I purchased GL #1 after a protracted absence from the world of comic books. I had been an avid collector throughout the 1980s and into the early 1990s but eventually stopped collecting due to a lack of funds (I was in university) and a sense that speculation and marketing had taken over the industry, turning people like me—people who read and collected comics simply for the love of it—into little more than pawns to be hooked and strung along like so many drug addicts. (Little did I realize then that marketing and speculation had driven the industry virtually from its inception.)

Imagine my horror when, over ten years later, I returned to one of my favorite titles from the past only to discover that not only was the situation the same, it had actually gotten worse. The comics were printed on better paper and with fewer ads, but that did not, in my mind at least, create a better reading experience. Not only did it download more costs to readers rather than advertisers, the amount of story contained in a single issue appeared to have gone down rather than up. In other words, it seemed like readers were being asked to pay far more for far less. Let me hasten to say that I have not verified this scientifically by going back to my old issues of the Green Lantern Corps., for instance, and seeing how many pages I got for how much money and how that money translates into today’s dollars. I am speaking merely from a gut level reaction. I felt like I was getting ripped off. For $4.50, I could buy either the first issue of GL or the latest issue of Wired magazine, for example. In the latter case, I would get hours of reading pleasure and loads of information. In the former, it would all be over in an instant, with little or nothing to show for my time or financial investment.

What I am trying to say by all of this is that poor Mr. Johns found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Putting aside my comments about his actual story for a minute, what really made me angry about GL #1 was the realization that, even more than before, the world of mainstream comic book publishing seems to be more concerned with making lots of money than making great art. Sure, creators like Johns obviously still love the stories and characters, but if they want to work in this industry, they have to play by the rules. And that means structuring their stories in ways that sell as many issues and titles as possible. Hence the dominance of multi-part stories, crossovers, tie-ins, and other devices that make it virtually impossible for casual readers to merely pick up one or two issues and be able to figure out what the heck is going on. Unless they are willing to go the whole nine yards, readers might as well not even get started in the first place. I know Mr. Johns is not personally responsible for this business model, and I’m sure he would structure things differently if he could. So it was unfair of me to aim the brunt of my brief but virulent tirade directly at him. I experienced the same sort of disappointment with other titles as well. He just had the unfortunate luck of being the first.

Concerns about the industry aside though, in my review, I also expressed strong disappointment regarding the actual content of GL #1. To understand why this is the case, you have to remember that during the height of my collecting days, comic books were going through somewhat of a renaissance in terms of storytelling, led by such luminaries as Alan Moore and Frank Miller. After years of superhero comics being little more than melodramas punctuated by pyrotechnics and fisticuffs, Moore and Miller took the medium to an entirely new level, showing that superhero stories could be far more than escapist, adolescent fantasy. They could also provide social commentary, spiritual reflection, and innovative, sophisticated storylines. Of course, Miller and Moore weren’t the only ones taking comics in new directions. Underground writers and artists had been pushing the boundaries of the medium for years. But Miller and Moore were among the first to bring such sensibilities into the mainstream. Needless to say then, after years out of the scene, I expected to re-enter it and find the spirit of Miller and Moore still echoing throughout the DC universe. Instead, I found that Green Lantern, at least, had actually reverted back to what comics were before titles like before The Watchmen, Elektra: Assassin or The Dark Knight Returns revolutionized writers and readers alike.

To say that I was disappointed is an understatement. But as I thought about it—and as people like fellow HollywoodJesus reviewer Maurice Broaddus began to get on my case for my “pissy� attitude—I began to realize that perhaps I was being too hard on Mr. Johns. More than that, perhaps I was judging him according to a standard he never even set out to attain. Sure, Miller and Moore had achieved some remarkable things during the mid-1980s. But did that mean, henceforth, that all other comic books would have to conform to their image to be considered worthy of our attention? Surely that would only lead to a new type of stagnation and homogeneity. After all, vehicle manufacturers offer a wide variety of makes and models, because they recognize consumers have a wide variety of wants and needs. Why can’t comic book publishers do the same? Just because I have a predilection for all things dark and brooding, does that mean everyone else should be forced to share my tastes? Of course not. What about the fourteen-year-old kid who just wants to read an exciting adventure story, the type of kid who is actually put off by too much philosophical gobbledygook? Naturally, as a 34-year-old reader, I want comic books to cater to my tastes. But to insist that they publish only comics that conform to my standards is like four-wheel drive enthusiasts demanding that Ford manufacture and sell only SUVs, to heck with what other people want and need. It doesn’t make sense. Sure, the storyline in Green Lantern doesn’t exactly push the boundaries in terms of what comic books can be, but neither does it claim to do so, and nowhere do the rules say it should. Some people really do want and need superhero stories told in the classical mold, and such people will not be disappointed when it comes to this title.

So, my apologies to Mr. Johns. Not only did I make you the scapegoat for the entire comic book industry, I also pilloried you for a crime you did not actually commit. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to learn this lesson—and that I have had to learn it in public—but better late than never.