Working class hero films tend to draw me in.
I appreciate watching someone driven by passion and overcome adversity to achieve a goal. The storytelling can even be mediocre; whenever I watch Rocky films I see the melodrama and weak dialogue. Yet I still get charged by the adrenaline rush because I see what has challenged my own family members and me. Though we aren't working-class heroes or win boxing matches in my family, the victories cause me to raise my arms in joy, and kneel in thanks to God. Such displays of humility represent the faith, ritual and athleticism of "Irish" Micky Ward in The Fighter.
The Fighter is a film that doesn't hide the fact that that it's a boxing film, and Mark Wahlberg and his production crew don't gloss over the boxing details. The ability to suspend any disbelief and completely lock-in to the story results from execution of the boxing details--the sweat, blood, broken bones, and mind-numbing blows (though not a gratuitous display of violence). If boxing is a sport that you can't tolerate, this film may not be for you. In its entirety, the film is about relationships. If you're on the edge about boxing, hang on to the film for the relational story telling. Each major character wrestles with both their gifts and demons and each with a web of relationships. Whereas many sports films rely on adrenaline to carry the story, the adrenaline ultimately overpowers anything that could be a story. As one of the producers, Wahlberg and his colleagues executed a balance in this film that rises above the stereotypes and cliches of sports and boxing.
Through the attention to detail in film making in The Fighter, the story joins a rare group of film plots: we see an authentic depiction of forgiveness. Too often forgiveness is seen as a minor detail to tie up the story. Since The Fighter is based on a true story the forgiveness aspect rings true, but there are no guarantees a screenplay will render accurate the emotional toil of forgiveness rather than a trite pronouncement.
I gave this film a lot of leeway because I love sports and working-class hero stories. What I didn't expect was such a tight and well-crafted story and screenplay. I forgot I was watching a film and realized I was closer to the drama than I ever imagined, and forgiveness carries the day.
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
Another untimely review: Conviction
What am I willing to sacrifice in order to pursue a life passion? Does a life passion take on a different scope if that passion is a family member?
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Another untimely review: Winter's Bone
Decades of my life passed by before I had any awareness of what rural meant. I used to think a small town consisted of around 10,000 people.
Then I moved to Kansas for college. Mile after mile of grain fields passed by my windshield. Abandoned houses, farm implements and rusted vehicles dotted the landscape--some remnants of the farm crisis of the 1980s. I guessed that people moved to the cities. As a college student, I merely passed through, hoping to learn something about a sharply contrasted life from the middle and upper middle class homes along the shores of the Puget Sound and Lake Washington at some point, but my eyes were fixed on Lawrence. I inquired about rural areas, and my friends from the small towns couldn't understand my curiosity.
Years later, my family moved to South Dakota. Very similar landscape to Kansas, butI learned more exploring the smaller paved arteries many miles off the well-traveled thoroughfares of the Interstate. I traveled to Hudson, South Dakota, site of my first interim congregation. I became accustomed to the abandoned buildings, closed schools, and stares weighing upon me that might as well been a painted sign on plywood that said, "you don't belong here." It actually didn't take long before I was welcomed, sharing in unfamiliar cuisine, chatting at the local garage, and getting my haircut at the local hairdresser and learning more from her about local culture than I ever would as a pastor. The hospitality of neighbors taught me the questions I could ask, and sometimes I received an earful merely standing somewhere, curious, without asking anything.
One day a local resident dished out matter-of-factly that some people get high by placing hubcaps over cow pies. They bake the cow pies under the hubcaps in the hot sun, drill a hole in the hubcap, and suck the gas through a garden hose. I try not to waste my time with disgust, I continue to ask...why?
That story of the resourceful high and the why behind it still haunts me as I watched a deeper story of Ozark rural blight in the film "Winter's Bone." Though rural blight in the film is hard to ignore, the relational variables of secrets, adversity, and courage carry the plot.
Ree is a 17-year-old young woman patching together a family in tatters while negotiating the terror plots and lies of her local kin branded in a meth ring. Ree is the clear hero of the story, but the question I asked throughout the film is, will anyone take courage with her? Some of those closest to Ree are enemies of positive changes, illuminating the human condition. I think about people in my life and the places where I serve and their prospects of making positive changes in their lives. Whether the story I observe is addiction recovery, congregational change, or personal achievement, the resentment associated with moving to a better place in life brings destruction from people who are supposed to be supportive and wise. Ree is learning the ways of the world and wise beyond her years. But in many ways she is a child, and she meets allies when she least expects it--Ree is a local hero who also learns the importance of interdependence.
I continue to think about this film. After serving 10 congregations, what was affirmed in this story is that both poverty and secrets kill. There is no clear path to wholeness in the stories of poverty and secrets, but the church would go a long way to put its energy into being generous and present as opposed to shaking its head. Easier said than done. God, have mercy.
Then I moved to Kansas for college. Mile after mile of grain fields passed by my windshield. Abandoned houses, farm implements and rusted vehicles dotted the landscape--some remnants of the farm crisis of the 1980s. I guessed that people moved to the cities. As a college student, I merely passed through, hoping to learn something about a sharply contrasted life from the middle and upper middle class homes along the shores of the Puget Sound and Lake Washington at some point, but my eyes were fixed on Lawrence. I inquired about rural areas, and my friends from the small towns couldn't understand my curiosity.
Years later, my family moved to South Dakota. Very similar landscape to Kansas, butI learned more exploring the smaller paved arteries many miles off the well-traveled thoroughfares of the Interstate. I traveled to Hudson, South Dakota, site of my first interim congregation. I became accustomed to the abandoned buildings, closed schools, and stares weighing upon me that might as well been a painted sign on plywood that said, "you don't belong here." It actually didn't take long before I was welcomed, sharing in unfamiliar cuisine, chatting at the local garage, and getting my haircut at the local hairdresser and learning more from her about local culture than I ever would as a pastor. The hospitality of neighbors taught me the questions I could ask, and sometimes I received an earful merely standing somewhere, curious, without asking anything.
One day a local resident dished out matter-of-factly that some people get high by placing hubcaps over cow pies. They bake the cow pies under the hubcaps in the hot sun, drill a hole in the hubcap, and suck the gas through a garden hose. I try not to waste my time with disgust, I continue to ask...why?
That story of the resourceful high and the why behind it still haunts me as I watched a deeper story of Ozark rural blight in the film "Winter's Bone." Though rural blight in the film is hard to ignore, the relational variables of secrets, adversity, and courage carry the plot.
Ree is a 17-year-old young woman patching together a family in tatters while negotiating the terror plots and lies of her local kin branded in a meth ring. Ree is the clear hero of the story, but the question I asked throughout the film is, will anyone take courage with her? Some of those closest to Ree are enemies of positive changes, illuminating the human condition. I think about people in my life and the places where I serve and their prospects of making positive changes in their lives. Whether the story I observe is addiction recovery, congregational change, or personal achievement, the resentment associated with moving to a better place in life brings destruction from people who are supposed to be supportive and wise. Ree is learning the ways of the world and wise beyond her years. But in many ways she is a child, and she meets allies when she least expects it--Ree is a local hero who also learns the importance of interdependence.
I continue to think about this film. After serving 10 congregations, what was affirmed in this story is that both poverty and secrets kill. There is no clear path to wholeness in the stories of poverty and secrets, but the church would go a long way to put its energy into being generous and present as opposed to shaking its head. Easier said than done. God, have mercy.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Getting my vision checked helps me participate in revelation
I picked up my new glasses the other day. I like to hear responses about new things.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Another untimely review: Black Swan
I would not have seen this movie had my wife not wanted to see it. That's a good thing about being in a relationship--taken to places I would not have gone on my own. I have nothing against ballet as an art form, I've enjoyed a small handful of ballets in my lifetime, but when it comes to investing my entertainment dollar, ballet remains in the recesses of my mind, and probably aided by the dearth of ballet in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Another untimely review: The Social Network
I am late to the Facebook party. For a few months, I've been a wallflower at the Facebook party, content to dance with my wife, who is my date to this party. To this party, I have brought a book, and a lot of other things to do.
Just because I'm not participating in the party does not mean I'm not interested in what is going on. I'm intrigued by the theories behind the interaction and relationships. I'm annoyed that social media is criticized for being a network of faux relationships. People are going to use Facebook, Twitter and the like, and the methodology of these relationships will evolve. I will do my best to observe the qualities of these interactions and offer theological and social science perspectives with as open a mind as possible. I'm not really sure Facebook is for me. I find the Facebook platform a bit overwhelming, like I felt about dances in high school and college. I have been a bit defiant about Facebook over the past two years, but I've chosen to be more of a curious observer and student of the platform rather than an outspoken critic.
The movie The Social Network has changed my perspective enough that I am willing to learn more about Facebook. I got to that point through the review of Ann Hornaday of the Washington Post. I enjoy her film reviews with Tony Kornheiser on Fridays, and her praise of The Social Network caused me to reflect on my relationship with social media more deeply. Rather than see Facebook as a mere toy, time-passer, or cultural fad, watching the film gave me a deeper sense of the connection between communication, relationships and commerce. We all make choices about our communication methodology. The call for a Christian is to discern how to make the way we communicate a reflection of the grace we have received. In that sense, Facebook is value neutral. However, the Social Network does not make any of the main characters, or even the folks with the bit parts look good. No character is glorified. What I find compelling is the craft and intelligence behind the platform, and what sin can do to any method of communication. The Social Network is driven by story and script writing (skillfully and enjoyably executed), and not reliant on the cache of the actors (though I agree with Hornaday that their skill should be recognized). For any student of human relationships and talents, The Social Network is a positive investment of your time.
If you think that The Social Network is not worth your time, at least learn from this review that the wallflowers at the party will go on observing while others are partying it up.
Just because I'm not participating in the party does not mean I'm not interested in what is going on. I'm intrigued by the theories behind the interaction and relationships. I'm annoyed that social media is criticized for being a network of faux relationships. People are going to use Facebook, Twitter and the like, and the methodology of these relationships will evolve. I will do my best to observe the qualities of these interactions and offer theological and social science perspectives with as open a mind as possible. I'm not really sure Facebook is for me. I find the Facebook platform a bit overwhelming, like I felt about dances in high school and college. I have been a bit defiant about Facebook over the past two years, but I've chosen to be more of a curious observer and student of the platform rather than an outspoken critic.
The movie The Social Network has changed my perspective enough that I am willing to learn more about Facebook. I got to that point through the review of Ann Hornaday of the Washington Post. I enjoy her film reviews with Tony Kornheiser on Fridays, and her praise of The Social Network caused me to reflect on my relationship with social media more deeply. Rather than see Facebook as a mere toy, time-passer, or cultural fad, watching the film gave me a deeper sense of the connection between communication, relationships and commerce. We all make choices about our communication methodology. The call for a Christian is to discern how to make the way we communicate a reflection of the grace we have received. In that sense, Facebook is value neutral. However, the Social Network does not make any of the main characters, or even the folks with the bit parts look good. No character is glorified. What I find compelling is the craft and intelligence behind the platform, and what sin can do to any method of communication. The Social Network is driven by story and script writing (skillfully and enjoyably executed), and not reliant on the cache of the actors (though I agree with Hornaday that their skill should be recognized). For any student of human relationships and talents, The Social Network is a positive investment of your time.
If you think that The Social Network is not worth your time, at least learn from this review that the wallflowers at the party will go on observing while others are partying it up.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Movie Reflection: Get Low
As a called and ordained minister of the Church of Christ, and by his authority, I therefore declare to you the entire forgiveness of all of your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
For 10 years of my young life, The Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness, page 77 (coincidental to Mt 18:21-22?) in the The Lutheran Book of Worship (aka The Green Hymnal or the LBW) was my regular contact with the concept of forgiveness. I knew the page well, considering how the page curled from regular use, my ink-pen stained finger prints dotted the page, and the growing fuzzy edges prevented paper cuts. The LBW provided tactile reminders of sins committed and assurance of God's love in Christ, like a nun kneels and rubs her fingers along beads of a rosary. The "Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness" was usually the first act of public worship each Sunday morning. Alongside the sermon, the confession had the most impact on me in early Christian life. This practice suited me not because it's fun, but because I am a naturally reflective person. Where have I been? Where am I going? What is my relationship with God? I could ponder those questions for years, but in the span of a few minutes, my reflections and redemption took shape. Even though I have felt the impact of sin and the liberation of redemption, the power of confession and forgiveness can still be elusive.
Imagine reflecting upon haunting sins and the elusiveness of forgiveness for a span of 40-plus years. Though I could only imagine that kind of torment, the storytelling of the film Get Low took me inside one man's understanding of love, sin, forgiveness, penance and redemption--and how his thoughts and actions influenced others' views and actions. The film is a 1930's period piece from the Bible Belt with an interesting connection to my own faith tradition in the Evangelical Lutheran Church In America. The film made me realize the gift of confession and forgiveness in the life of the church and my own faith, but it also made me realize how the church's rituals and teaching can be deficient in people's real lives. The confession and forgiveness practice can be programmed and sometimes rote, and life in between the rituals and proclamations is much messier than people (clergy included) care to often times understand.
Though forgiveness is the driving theme, the story telling is well crafted and the character development, cinematography, and top notch Bluegrass music (Jerry Douglass and Alison Krauss, to name a few) maximize the theme's impact. Because the film is based on a true story, some details could not be fictionally created (you can't make this stuff up!). After 40-plus years living the life of a hermit, Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) comes to town wanting to throw a funeral party, his own, before he dies. The meaning of this funeral party is revealed through his interactions with a local funeral director Frank Quinn (Bill Murray), his assistant (Lucas Black), two preachers, and an old friend (Sissy Spacek), and other town folk. For Frank Quinn, the funeral is unorthodox, but an opportunity to revive his sagging funeral business. For his assistant, his sense of right and wrong is constantly challenged.
A few sub themes worth noting in "Get Low" include the understanding of vocation in the world and how it is shared. Another sub-theme deals with how little people really know about one another--even in a small town. Another involves reflections upon integrity in the midst of personal identity and promises kept. It's one thing to teach, preach or discuss themes of sin, confession, forgiveness, redemption, vocation, relationships, promises, integrity and peace. Video is a special medium--and film story telling is a unique opportunity for impact, with the cinematography, music, and acting interpretation. Not only is the story and it's themes powerful because of the film making quality, but the humor is prevalent and disarming, but not distracting or trite. I can only tell you so much. Go see the film. Take adults. Take teenagers. Take someone you love. Talk about the film with one another. Journal about the film. Blog about the film. Tweet about the film.
For readers in the Puget Sound area, my wife and I viewed the film at Grand Cinema in Tacoma. This was our first trip to the Grand, and it represents all that is good about a trip to the movies--a non-profit cinema with lower prices and smaller concessions, staffed by friendly volunteers in a well-cared for setting both inside and out. We will go back because of the mission and the experience at the Grand.
For 10 years of my young life, The Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness, page 77 (coincidental to Mt 18:21-22?) in the The Lutheran Book of Worship (aka The Green Hymnal or the LBW) was my regular contact with the concept of forgiveness. I knew the page well, considering how the page curled from regular use, my ink-pen stained finger prints dotted the page, and the growing fuzzy edges prevented paper cuts. The LBW provided tactile reminders of sins committed and assurance of God's love in Christ, like a nun kneels and rubs her fingers along beads of a rosary. The "Brief Order of Confession and Forgiveness" was usually the first act of public worship each Sunday morning. Alongside the sermon, the confession had the most impact on me in early Christian life. This practice suited me not because it's fun, but because I am a naturally reflective person. Where have I been? Where am I going? What is my relationship with God? I could ponder those questions for years, but in the span of a few minutes, my reflections and redemption took shape. Even though I have felt the impact of sin and the liberation of redemption, the power of confession and forgiveness can still be elusive.
Imagine reflecting upon haunting sins and the elusiveness of forgiveness for a span of 40-plus years. Though I could only imagine that kind of torment, the storytelling of the film Get Low took me inside one man's understanding of love, sin, forgiveness, penance and redemption--and how his thoughts and actions influenced others' views and actions. The film is a 1930's period piece from the Bible Belt with an interesting connection to my own faith tradition in the Evangelical Lutheran Church In America. The film made me realize the gift of confession and forgiveness in the life of the church and my own faith, but it also made me realize how the church's rituals and teaching can be deficient in people's real lives. The confession and forgiveness practice can be programmed and sometimes rote, and life in between the rituals and proclamations is much messier than people (clergy included) care to often times understand.
Though forgiveness is the driving theme, the story telling is well crafted and the character development, cinematography, and top notch Bluegrass music (Jerry Douglass and Alison Krauss, to name a few) maximize the theme's impact. Because the film is based on a true story, some details could not be fictionally created (you can't make this stuff up!). After 40-plus years living the life of a hermit, Felix Bush (Robert Duvall) comes to town wanting to throw a funeral party, his own, before he dies. The meaning of this funeral party is revealed through his interactions with a local funeral director Frank Quinn (Bill Murray), his assistant (Lucas Black), two preachers, and an old friend (Sissy Spacek), and other town folk. For Frank Quinn, the funeral is unorthodox, but an opportunity to revive his sagging funeral business. For his assistant, his sense of right and wrong is constantly challenged.
A few sub themes worth noting in "Get Low" include the understanding of vocation in the world and how it is shared. Another sub-theme deals with how little people really know about one another--even in a small town. Another involves reflections upon integrity in the midst of personal identity and promises kept. It's one thing to teach, preach or discuss themes of sin, confession, forgiveness, redemption, vocation, relationships, promises, integrity and peace. Video is a special medium--and film story telling is a unique opportunity for impact, with the cinematography, music, and acting interpretation. Not only is the story and it's themes powerful because of the film making quality, but the humor is prevalent and disarming, but not distracting or trite. I can only tell you so much. Go see the film. Take adults. Take teenagers. Take someone you love. Talk about the film with one another. Journal about the film. Blog about the film. Tweet about the film.
For readers in the Puget Sound area, my wife and I viewed the film at Grand Cinema in Tacoma. This was our first trip to the Grand, and it represents all that is good about a trip to the movies--a non-profit cinema with lower prices and smaller concessions, staffed by friendly volunteers in a well-cared for setting both inside and out. We will go back because of the mission and the experience at the Grand.
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