Revving Up the Engines to Barrel Over Blasphemy

By Mark Ezra Stokes
8-18-06

Movie controversies just ain’t what they used to be. Despite all the hoopla surrounding The Da Vinci Code, it still managed to gross more than 200 million dollars in the U.S. (even if it ended up being too boring to elicit any lasting arguments). Though Harry Potter remains a tried-and-true target for picketers, no one seems to be listening, and we’ve got another year before the next one comes out. The question remains: With the current movies about snake-handling (Snakes on a Plane) and praying policemen (World Trade Center), how are Christians expected to get our boycott fix? Never fear, my picket-happy compatriots, because nothing offends our Lord more than the unsavory subject of… NASCAR.

Okay, so maybe there’s nothing intrinsically blasphemous about high-speed automobiles driving in endless circles, but Christian critic Ted Baehr considers Talladega Nights: The Legend of Ricky Bobby “one of the most blasphemous, politically correct major movies ever released by a major Hollywood studio.” This film is definitely intent on poking fun, but what if there’s credence to the various caricatures portrayed? Could the “art” of Ricky Bobby’s tale be imitating a few offensive trends in American society? Though I’m not a fan of NASCAR (or driving cars in general), I am a heterosexual, Christian, Southern, white male. So according to Baehr, I should be offended. Yet, for some reason, I’m not (at least not by the film).

Talladega Nights follows fictitious NASCAR legend Ricky Bobby (Will Ferrell) who, from his birth in a speeding muscle car on the way to the hospital, has always wanted to drive fast. His life is rooted on something his deadbeat dad told him during elementary-school show-and-tell: “If you ain’t first, you’re last.” During his career, Ricky remains focused on winning, though that sometimes means neglecting family, friends and his own safety. Like the books of Ecclesiastes and Job, the film ponders on what is truly lasting when accolades and material gains fade away.

Talladega Nights is definitely crude at times, earning its PG-13 rating for crude and sexual humor, language, drug references and brief comic violence. But amidst the low-brow humor and the sloppily-constructed storyline is an overarching message. Ricky Bobby and his friends represent capitalism at its most perverse extreme. Like NASCAR, the film offers a sensory overload of product placement, taking its criticism of corporate sponsorship as far as it’ll go (which includes an entire Applebee’s commercial in the middle of the final racing scene). It constructs a materialistic society where it’s impossible to separate the church from the state or the bank. Ricky and his friends incessantly spout patriotic clichés while revealing just how little they know about any nation outside of their borders. Ricky’s trophy wife (Leslie Bibb) asks him to pray well so he’ll win the next day’s race. Such cringe-worthy moments are prevalent enough to get the point across: too much of a good thing can create some really disturbing results.

One of the most “offensive” elements of the film involves the Bobby family prayer around the dinner table. During Ricky’s prayer (which involves lots of shallow gratitude for prosperity and abundance), Ricky’s wife chastises him for referring to Jesus as “Lord Baby Jesus.” Ricky explains that he likes the Christmas Jesus best. What ensues is an absurd, family-wide argument of whose perception of Jesus is the best and most accurate.

Also during the prayer, we’re introduced to Ricky’s foul-mouthed, disrespectful children, Walker and Texas Ranger (T.R.). Though 90 percent of their dialogue seems meant solely for shock value, we learn that these children are merely products of their environment. They’re brats because, like Ricky, they’ve been taught to do whatever it takes to get what you want.

Though Talladega Nights raises some relevant sociological concerns, it’s just not constructed well (much like last month’s Lady in the Water). Never does the story flow in one direction before being yanked in another direction by some random joke. Though the main storyline seems to be one of Ricky’s redemption, we’re yanked a different way to follow the children’s reform, and then we’re yanked in another direction to follow Ricky’s attempt at atonement with his father. All of these storylines could’ve really meshed well together thematically if the pacing were worked out. Instead, Talladega Nights seems to center on Ferrell’s numerous improvised lines—many of which have been spoiled in the T.V. trailer.

Talladega Nights won’t be a required viewing at film schools, nor will it become a vital part of our pop cultural lexicon. But it does paint quite a disturbing picture of what watered-down Christianity can become—not as a result of outside persecution or infiltration, but because we have created gods in our own image that look more like infants, Southern rock singers and ice skaters than the one, true God.

I suppose the boycotters are right when saying that Talladega Nights is offensive, but I don’t think we can blame such pseudo-blasphemy on the filmmakers. The sub-culture in this satire is alive and thriving, and the brunt of this perverse worldview seems to hit hardest in the chest of an unwavering but increasingly-exploited God. The most offensive, frightening reality of the film is that Ricky Bobby’s world is a slightly-distorted mirror of our own. That means that we as bored boycotters now have the opportunity to use the logs from our own eyes (see Matthew 7:1-5) to construct new picket signs that will guide us in identifying the real problem: the misperceptions of the person who stares into the mirror.

His Eyes are on Jack Sparrow: Jesus Walks in the Summertime

By Mark Ezra Stokes
7-17-06

Christ-figures seem more blatant in mainstream films these days—particularly in summer blockbusters. For that, we can thank both the commercial success of The Passion of the Christ and the critical success of The Writer’s Journey (Christopher Vogler’s book on mythic structure in screenplays). Though some executives may think all it takes is some lantern-jawed hero with a death wish and outstretched arms, this summer has reminded us that there must be more to the equation. There must be connectivity—something few of the latest films seem to have grasped.

Though the X-Men franchise is always full of sacrificial figures, its third installment (rated PG-13 for intense sequences of action violence, some sexual content and language) is so focused on obscure mutant cameos that it seems like an action-packed extension of the Where’s Waldo? series, with strings of “shocking” deaths to keep its viewers interested. The result is pretty eye candy, but not much more. If we had been invited to share in the lives of a mere fraction of those loveably freakish characters, we would’ve more than likely been left in awe at their selflessness in death (see John 15:13).

Even comedy films, such as Nacho Libre (rated PG for some rough action, and crude humor including dialogue), have variations on the Christ-figure. Though Nacho (Jack Black) feels a divine calling into the world of professional wrestling, he must forsake his monastic brothers, who see such activities as “scandalous.” Few elements of Nacho’s life allegorize that of Christ, but he makes the Christ-like decision to risk social death by rejecting extra-biblical dogma and pursuing what he believes is God’s call. The minds behind Napoleon Dynamite do seem to use one flatulence joke too many with this one, but the heartwarming sacrifice seems to redeem the film and keep it inches away from the realm of “So what?”

The allegorical intent of Superman Returns is the most blatant of the summer. Jor-El (Marlon Brando, in an unused clip from the 1978 Superman) delivers a voiceover monologue that sounds vaguely familiar: “They can be a great people, Kal-El, if they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. This reason, above all, is why I send them you, my only son.” Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) claims several times that she doesn’t need a “savior.” Also, Superman (Brandon Routh) floats over the world with outstretched arms and a weary expression that looks directly gleaned from the Garden of Gethsemane.

The perennial problem with the Superman character, though, is he often seems too super. Like the early films retelling the life and death of Christ (From the Manger to the Cross (1912), King of Kings (1927), etc.), Superman Returns involves a protagonist who is so divine, it’s difficult for a human audience to relate to him. Instead, like Lois Lane, we feel alienated from such a Christ-figure or, like Lex Luther, we feel jealous of his perfection (because it reminds us of our imperfections).

Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest (rated PG-13 for intense sequences of adventure violence, including frightening images) most effectively portrays the poignancy of self-sacrifice, and it also tells the best story I’ve seen all summer. I think each of these two elements—believable self-sacrifice and a good story—are essential for the film’s success and the success of other films that choose to incorporate Christ-figures.

Rather than sending us through some melodramatic story where compassion is expected, screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio infuse light and wonderfully timed comedy into a dark world where death and damnation remain on everyone’s minds. Imagine a blend of Captain Kidd and the Keystone Kops—a Saturday-morning serialized drama where Buster Crabbe and Buster Keaton meet to fling pies at nefarious villains. Though it’s an unlikely meshing of nostalgias, it has proven to work quite well in the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, and this film is no exception.

If Superman Returns embodies a Christ that is more God than man, Pirates of the Caribbean 2 shows multiple characters—all very gritty and human—who display their awareness that the ultimate display of love, friendship and loyalty is self-sacrifice. In the realm of Christ-figures, Pirates of the Caribbean 2 is closer to the depictions of Jesus Christ Superstar (1973), The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) or Jesus (2000). As a result, we can easily identify with heroes just as flawed as us. “If these people can make the greatest of sacrifices,” we ask ourselves, “then what’s stopping us from dying for noble causes?”

Though none of this summer’s films identify specifically the relevance of the historical Christ, they lead to some pretty profound truths. X-Men 3 teaches us that self-sacrifice only affects us if we feel that we’ve somehow encountered the victim on a personal level. Nacho Libre shows that self-sacrifice often involves more than just physical death—that social death can be nearly as painful and profound.

We learn from Superman Returns that if Jesus Christ were exclusively divine, he would’ve been beyond our reach—a catalyst for alienation and jealousy. The best-case scenario of a direct encounter with the solely divine would include piles upon piles of corpses (Exodus 33:20) and perhaps a few lucky stragglers with shiny faces (Exodus 33:21-23 and Exodus 34:29). We learn from Pirates of the Caribbean 2 that if Jesus were just a man who happened to do nice things for people, we’d be affected by the profundity of his compassion and ultimate sacrifice, but we’d be scratching our heads about his reliability and/or sanity (in Jesus’ case, directly relating to his claims of divinity in John 5:18, John 3:13, John 8:23, John 8:58-59 and John 10:30-33).

The beauty of the historical Christ is his perfect balance between the divine and the human. While his humanity allows us to identify with a person who has walked in our shoes, his divinity provides a higher standard for us to pursue, and access to someone far greater than ourselves or our very-human acquaintances. The historical Christ is the perfect mediator—the perfection of Superman mixed with the accessibility of Captain Jack Sparrow. Thank God for that blend. And thank Hollywood for reminding us of that blend.