There are "scary" movies, and then there are "Halloween" movies, and then there are "scary Halloween movies."
With all respect to well-done "scary" movies such as "Silence of the Lambs," "Psycho," "Alien," "The Shining," "Jacob's Ladder," the original "Nightmare on Elm Street," and the clever "Texas Chainsaw Massacre," I think there's something different about movies that clearly carry the Halloween theme of ghosts, goblins, and, more specifically, demons and Satan himself. A spiritual person cannot ignore the importance of such things.
And for me, the movie that brought that most home to me—even beyond "The Exorcist" or "The Omen" or "The Devil's Advocate"—was John Carpenter's original "Halloween." It's probably too late to rent it today, but it's worth ordering. I originally went and saw it because we had all heard it was filmed in our hometown of Burbank. Never, though, did I experience the true edge-of-my-seat authentic feelings of being scared of what evil could do like I did in that movie.
It was low-budget, smart, surprising, obvious at times, and unrelentingly honest about how those who would seek to name the evil among us (in this case the pyschiatrist played by Donald Pleasance) are often seen as out of touch and over-dramatic while the innocent among us (in this case Jamie Lee Curtis's "Laurie") seem so naïve and blind to the ever present evil.
Before "Halloween's" dénouement and the final chase scenes, the battle of good v. evil in "Halloween" brings out the most important question for the spiritual seeker: "Is this spirit stuff really real?" If it is, we ought to equip ourselves for it. If not, then we can all go back to the fun and games and tongue-in-cheek way we treat Halloween.
But for me, before I even started reading the Bible and finding out what it's all about, I had a deep sense of the existence of how bad people can be and how scary it is that we don't notice, and it came from the experience of seeing "Halloween."
Everyone remembers his or her first time trick-or-treating, getting candy from strangers, and wearing costumes. I know I remember my first time. Mostly because I was 18.
Growing up in suburban New Jersey, I always knew what Halloween was: It was the week when television seemed to switch over to an "every night is Fright Night/Shocktober" format, all the candy in the supermarkets switched over to a fall color palate, and packages suddenly sported ghosts, witches, and corpses, which were very appetizing. And it was the week when my yeshiva (Jewish religious school) sent home a letter to parents informing them that since Halloween was a pagan holiday that had become a fulcrum for mischief and destructive pranks--sometimes of an anti-Semitic nature--it was highly advised that we not be permitted to participate in any of the celebrations.
The only way Halloween made a real impact was the constant ringing of our doorbell, as trick-or-treaters made their way down the block. My brothers and I would open the door and distribute candy to the costumed kids, occasionally pocketing a piece of candy for ourselves, and never whining to my parents to let us participate. It wasn't our faith. It wasn't our holiday.
After high school graduation, I went to college, and as October waned, people started talking about Halloween--instead of door-to-door candy collecting, there were fraternity keg parties and prizes for best costume. Costume strategies for men involved creativity and for women often included cleavage; and choice of costume often revealed elements of truth that we didn't see on days that didn't involve masks. One of my male friends dressed as a Mother Superior, which was hilarious in a Monty Python way; he came out a few years later. Another friend went as "Lampshade Man," sticking a lampshade on his head, and going up to women and saying "Turn me on!" Another dressed as a phone--she took a white t-shirt, drew a telephone keypad on it, attached a phone receiver to a headband, and went to a party saying, "Ring, ring, I'm for you! Pick me up!"
I wasn't really going to celebrate. I didn't even know how. "What did you wear the last time you trick-or-treated?" my friends asked. "Umm, I've never been trick-or-treating." After a shocked silence, I looked at my friends and realized I had managed to terrify them on Halloween--quite a good first effort at the holiday. They vowed to take me trick-or-treating that year, and for an authentic experience, they made me dress up (wearing a pretty modest miniskirt, tights, and boots, I didn't look that different from any of the shul-going Upper West Siders I currently see, but I believe we called what I was "a prostitute"). We left campus and went to the suburbs of East Brunswick.
House by house, as people opened their doors, we yelled "trick or treat" and thrust out our bags waiting for the candy goodness. But the homeowners were suspicious. "Aren't you a little old for this?" So we offered to trade services for candy--singing services. "Halloween carols? Really?" one homeowner queried. "Sure!" we agreed. We started with some classics, Frank and Broadway show tunes, and moved to some more contemporary stuff. Debbie Gibson may have been involved--the memory there is a little hazy.
So that was my first time. It felt a little weird, like I was pretending not to be Jewish; but most of the friends I was out with that night were also Jewish. They were just used to this holiday in a way I wasn't then and never really acclimated to. Even today, I'm not such a fan of Halloween. I know other people love it and I try not to grinch on their parades, especially the famous Village Halloween Parade, which has been the unintentional fulcrum of some of my NYC-based relationships.
I appreciate the creativity of a good costume, but for me, some of them, especially the "bloodied accident victim" genre, seem to have lost their "fun," which I trace to all the CNN footage I watched after 9/11, and others s
till seem like a chance for women to flaunt their womanly parts to the point of exploitation and drink until they can't tell the difference between friends and friends-with-benefits. Which may suit everyone else fine, but that kind of obfuscation isn't necessarily my cup of poison.
Even on the Jewish holiday of Purim, a yeshiva girl's approved day of dress-up, I'm always second-guessing my costume. So when it comes to Halloween, which is definitely not yeshiva-approved, I generally try to stay out of it. But I do get it. There is definitely something appealing about a day of fun and freedom from the strictures of contemporary dress and behavior. so maybe I'll come around. And, of course, there's candy, which--metaphorically and literally--everyone can agree is totally sweet.
posted by Esther Kustanowitz @ 4:48 PM | Permalink |
It's well known that at the Catholic University of Notre Dame, football is its own religion. The school even boasts a mural of "Touchdown Jesus" on its campus.
Notre Dame's football coach since 2004, Charlie Weis, is a giant of a man, who has brought the team back from a series of losing (yes, losing) seasons, is known for his harsh personality, and has also become infamous for excessive expletives on the field. And in the eyes of the campus and its fans, he is also above sin. Last night, "60 Minutes" did a special segment, called "Big Man On Campus," on this bear of a coach who has revived the Fighting Irish. In the piece, Notre Dame's President, Father John Jenkins, boasts giving him "special dispensation" for his foul mouth:
Notre Dame President Father John Jenkins says he hired Weis because his values and commitment to excellence mirrored those of the university. And he seems willing to give the coach a special dispensation for his language. "This may shock you, but I've heard salty language in football locker rooms a lot. Charlie's a New Jersey guy and he speaks very directly," Jenkins says. "Andy Reid of the Philadelphia Eagles, who was a good friend of Charlie's, said that Charlie's probably spending a lot of time in the confessional here for all of the language," Kroft remarks. "If he's spending time in confessional, I encourage him to keep doing that and repent," Father Jenkins says, laughing.
Interested in some President Bush-bashing? Two new films--one about the Dixie Chicks' grudge match with the president, and the other a mockumentary about the fictional assassination of the president--were released on Friday.
I haven't seen either, but both are being positioned as "talking points" for November's midterm elections, according to a CNN.com article. "Dixie Chicks: Shut Up and Sing" covers the fracas between the popular country-music trio and conservatives after lead singer Natalie Maines told London concert goers in 2003 that the Chicks were ashamed to be from the same state as Bush.
With the remark coming at the start of the U.S. war in Iraq, when American patriotism was at a high, Maines' remark triggered fallout as album sales dropped, many radio stations banned their record, and some fans boycotted them.
But perhaps more intriguing than "Shut Up and Sing" is "Death of a President," which has courted controversy from the get-go. Through creative film editing, the movie imagines the assassination of President Bush after giving a speech in Chicago in October of 2007. It shows Vice President Dick Cheney being sworn in and then hustling an even-stricter Patriot act through Congress.
And as these two films are hitting the theater, "The Road to Guantanamo" is coming out on DVD. This documentary tells wrenching story of British Muslims, who through a series of unfortunate events, found themselves held without charges for two years at the notorious U.S. military prison in Cuba. This documentary, more than any other, points a glaring spotlight on horrors of Gitmo and the ruthless way the Bush Administration allowed for the endless detainment of thousands of "terrorist suspects" without real evidence.
Rent "The Road to Guantanamo." You'll learn the price some people are paying for the U.S.'s no-holds barred war on terror. As for the other two films, I wonder if they will really affect the upcoming elections. Faith and politics have walked hand-in-hand through President Bush's two terms, and these films all explore its manipulation to attain some sort of bottom line.
Two years ago, Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11" opened up to big audiences nationwide. This movie had some major buzz and was a box-office draw. But President Bush was reelected to a second term, so in that sense the film did little more than make the president look like a buffoon.
Though "The Simpsons" was a repeat last night, it was new to me, and--though I am not sure why this fascinates me as much as it does--I couldn't help catching what was at least the second reference to Barbra Streisand's 1983 gender-bender drama "Yentl" in the animated series' history.
For those with all-too-short memories, "Yentl" was the story of a young Jewish woman in an Eastern European shtetl who, lacking educational opportunities because of her gender, is determined to study in an all-men's yeshivah, so she covers up in traditional Orthodox men's garb--white shirt, black suit, black coat, black hat, dangling side-curls--and enrolls as a man.
The so-bad-it's-funny movie first appeared on "The Simpsons" in an episode focusing on Nelson and his search for his father. Believing no one is around to hear him, the supposedly hard-hearted bully breaks into a heart-wrenching (or gut-busting, depending on your perspective) rendition of the movie's song "Papa Can You Hear Me?"
Then, in the episode rebroadcast last night, the kids' school is separated by gender, in order to give the girls an empowerment boost in math and science. Fed up with her touchy-feely math class--"How does a plus sign make you feel?" the teacher asks--Lisa decides to take a play from Babs' book and attend the boys school in drag. Discovered, one of Nelson's bully friends calls out disappointedly, "We've been Yentled!"
There's a new version of an old mini-series that's sure to be a ratings grabber for the next week or so. The stakes are high, the subplots are numerous, and the cast features old stars and emerging new characters. As a nation, we'll tune in with interest until it runs its course and ends. And this one is not only on one channel.
There's something about the drama of the election that creates national interest that goes beyond politics. It's a story that interests Americans, with its many possible twists, turns, and mysteries:
• Will the Democrats take over the House? • Will the Republicans lose the Senate? • Will Hillary Clinton run for President? • Will Barack Obama run for President? • How will this election effect the war? • What will happen in my local congressional district or county commission election? • How will other races effect the one(s) I'm interested in?
What makes this interesting for me is the degree to which the national news media is perceived as an information-distributor, when in fact they are as much a "player" in the plot as anyone. Ratings and advertising dollars are being fought for, audience share is the prize, and all stops will be pulled out by the news networks to "win" their battles during this high viewership season.
Consider some quotes I heard last week:
On Fox: "You are correct that this is an issue of national importance, and that's why viewers will need to keep it on Fox, because, indeed, if the Republicans win that seat there is little chance the Democrats can gain control of the Senate."
CNN: "Thank you for that report, and I remind viewers that CNN was the only national news network to have a reporter live on that scene."
News anchor to expert commentator in the field: "Usually the off-year midterm elections are sort of boring, but this year seems to be anything but..."
These are classic examples of the self-promotional aspect of the news cycle:
1. The networks assert that this election season is exciting and not boring and that more and more people are interested in it;
2. A certain percentage of the audience believes that there's something special going on and they don't want to miss out;
3. Audience share goes up as (whaddya know?!) more and more people get interested in it.
In a poll released yesterday, Barack Obama is in a statistical dead heat with John McCain (41%-38%) for the 2008 election. Am I the only one who notices that the only reason for such polls now is the creation of subplots and stories to juice up an election? Neither McCain or Obama is in a close race in this election, and most Americans don't really know much about Obama's leadership record or his stand on every issue. But we know his image, and a bit of his story, and that is how the media drives our election processes and influences the results while posing as a bystander.
It all comes down to this: A spiritually-driven person who wants to cast a responsible vote needs to separate the wheat from the chaff when it comes to watching TV news, to identify what is of relevance and close to factual, and what is really just the media's efforts to win in its own piece of the drama that is Nationally Televised Election Season.
Like the Olympics, this ratings-grabber will be gone in two weeks, but the repercussions of our votes will last much, much longer.
"Conversations with God"--the true life story of Neale Donald Walsch, the bestselling author of the book series of the same name--hits screens nationwide this weekend. The books have sold more than 7 million copies worldwide, and the first one sat on the New York Times bestseller list for well over a year. (You can watch a clip from the film here.)
As the films in the "spirituality" genre are wont to be, "Conversations With God" is verrrrry slow at points. There are lots of "reflective silences"--gazing into space, at a lake with surrounding mountains, sitting on the couch during one of Walsch's particularly down-and-out moments. This slowness--rather than coming off as artistic, moving, or even suspenseful (see "Whale Rider" as an excellent film with little conversation but electric intensity)--comes across as cheesy. Viewers are supposed to experience these silences as pregnant with meaning, but they verge on the awkward, if not entirely boring.
That said, once the film starts really exploring the juxtaposition of Walsch's current life and success as a bestselling author with his earlier experiences as a homeless man living in a tent, the film picks up and audiences will find themselves wanting to know the bits and pieces of this rags-to-to-riches story. In other words, I did eventually watch with interest as Walsch's transformation unfolded, but it was hard to lose the feeling that the makers of this movie were trying to manipulate me, wanting me to cry, and most of all, to buy the book.
I must admit, I have not read any of the "Conversations with God" books--though Book One has been sitting on my shelf since the late 90's, a gift from a friend who thought I should read it during a difficult time in my life. At the very least, seeing the movie has sent me searching through the mountains on my shelves for my copy of that book. I'm now curious to read more than the snippets and excerpts the film offers viewers--it did whet my appetite (score one for the producers!). I imagine movie-goers still uninitiated to the series will feel a similar curiosity.
And the religion scholar in me couldn't help but ask, while watching Walsch's story unfold: Is Neale a modern-day mystic? One whose relationship with God is so intimate, so intense, that he cannot help but feel compelled to share this profound knowledge with the world? Neale's sensibility of the divine is as friend, and even more so as Love--a portrait not unfamiliar within the history of Christian mysticism. Hadewijch of Antwerp, believed to have lived in the 13th century, wrote many poems and lyrics inspired by her intimate encounters with God, which evoked Love as the proper divine address.
Yet it is not quite right to compare someone like Hadewijch with Walsch. Hadewijch's portrait of Love/God is far more nuanced and complicated--her God can break your heart over and over and She (God) is undoubtedly Christian. Walsch's God seems to be one who loves you, yes, but who also wants to fulfill your every desire, whether monetary or otherwise, and seems most suited to the "spiritual but not religious" crowd. Most striking of all, though, is that Neale's God and Neale himself seem to be more or less one and the same. (This certainly launches him away from claiming a spot within the history of Christian mysticism--though it's not as if he's lobbying for one, either.)
Watching the film made me wonder: Walsch's claims, his publications, and his speaking/preaching tours do mimic (at least to a degree) what we know of many mystics across history--so why aren't scholars wondering about his status as modern-day mystic? Is it h
is lack of association with one religious tradition? Is it that our skepticism is too strong? Or is it the fact that perhaps, ultimately, his "Conversations with God" are too much about serving the "me" in all of us, and lack that ethical component--a sense of justice--evident throughout the history of mysticism?
Viewers and readers will have to decide for themselves.
I've already ranted here once before about actor Stephen Baldwin's brand of gnarly, extreme sports-themed Christianity, so I feel a little bit guilty about pointing out that the hip, high-class Salon magazine has a new profile on Baldwin--conveniently timed for the release of his memoir, "The Unusual Suspect." In the article, Baldwin makes such enlightened comments as, "We must shut off our brains, and be led by what God tells our hearts." He also says that he is not just a Jesus freak but a "Jesus Pyscho."
The Salon article, which has a snarky tone and some rather obvious anti-Christian bias, does not simply criticize Baldwin (he's just the easiest target), but other conservative evangelicals (Ryan Dobson, son of Focus on the Family's James Dobson, also takes some heat) as well. The article point out that there are many well-known Christians who are enticing a significant number of teens to buy into a certain brand of the gospel through a flashy marketing approach in which the supposition is that teens can only find a relationship with Jesus through the latest clothing fad, cheesy slogan, or dazzling video; as an example, the article says, a Stephen Baldwin skateboarding/evangelical rally drew 40,000 kids while the X Games only drew 16,000 participants last year. Serious reflection on anything with spiritual substance is simply not a requirement in order to make God your "homey."
I have no doubt that Mr.Baldwin has some good intentions hidden somewhere within all of his cheerleading for Jesus, but I wish he would simply stick to acting in some low-budget, well-crafted movies like the upcoming "Midnight Clear" where Jesus is revealed in a more authentic way.
TomKat is probably so busy planning for the big wedding next month in Italy that they won't even notice that Scientology is going to get another bad rap in the limelight this Saturday night, as CBS's "48 Hours" focuses on the controversial murder case of Elli Perkins. Back in 2003, Perkins was stabbed to death by her son, who happened to be a paranoid-schizophrenic. Because of the Perkins family's strong belief in Scientology, they refused to treat him with medication, but tried vitamins as a cure instesd. What ensured was a murder trial and an alleged Scientology cover-up.
But while Elli's death is tragic, perhaps even more heartbreaking is the fact that her son remains in a mental institution to this day, and his family has completely dissociated themselves from him.
Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting, is now over. But Naeem Randhawa's revealing new documentary, "American Ramadan," (released this month) continues to chug its way around the world. Its been picked up by local PBS channels, Link TV, and international satellite stations such as Pakistan's GEO TV and Al-Jazeera.
First-time director Randhawa takes a look at five American Muslim families in the Dallas and Los Angeles areas during Ramadan in 2005. His interview subjects showcase the diversity of the American Muslim population: There's the interracial couple, the divorced dad, the super-busy, overachieving, hijab-wearing college student, and the Indonesian wife and her Caucasian-convert husband.
Their stories have a raw quality that gets at the heart of what an American Ramadan is all about: Physically fasting and trying to reach a higher spiritual plane while struggling to manage the craziness of daily American life.
This point is especially telling in a scene when the college student requests a 15 minute break at her mall job, then dashes to her car to quickly break fast before heading back in. "Not very glamorous," she wryly says to the camera. And that's the challenge of fasting in this country.
"American Ramadan" plainly shows that though that "Ramadan feeling" (of communal spirituality) can be found at Friday prayers at a local mosque or in the evenings at taraweeh prayers, most often it's a singular effort hampered by work, school, and family commitments.
When I spoke with Randhawa about the film, he described numerous obstacles he had in shooting the documentary. One of the participants started wearing a hijab midway through filming. Randhawa was faced with the possibility of losing hours of film he shot of her sans hijab. But after consulting a local imam, the woman agreed to let Randhawa use the earlier footage of her.
The documentary was definitely a learning experience and labor of love, Randhawa told me. His passion shows, but his filmmaking inexperience also is evident in the unsatisfying segues and repetitive images. Still, Randhawa (who is not a filmmaker by profession or study) produces a very viewable Ramadan experience for an American audience.
I've always thought fasting for Ramadan in a non-Muslim country is harder, and therefore my efforts (which are probably less than those fasting in a Muslim country) are hopefully recognized with much love by Allah. "American Ramadan" certainly hammers this point home.
The "Show Me" state's airwaves have been overrun with showmen these past two weeks, leading up to a hotly contested Senate race between incumbent between Republican Sen. Jim Talent, who opposes an embryonic stem cell initiative, and Democratic challenger Claire McCaskill, who supports it. Celebrities including Michael J. Fox, Sheryl Crow, Particia Heaton, and Jim Caviezel have all participated in campaign ads, creating a Battle of the Network Stars: The Left Team vs. The Right Team.
The showdown began with Michael J. Fox--actor, Parkinson's activist, and a member of the NBC Battle for the Network stars team--stomping for McCaskill and the stem cell initiative in ads that the Associated Press has called "powerfully vulnerable" and Rush Limbaugh decried as Fox just "acting" and "off his medication." In the ads, Fox is visibly sufferring from the effects of his Parkinson's, swerving and bobbing back and forth. Maybe Fox wasn't on his medication serving to dramatically illustrate--critics would say exploit--the plight of Parkinson's sufferers. But campaign ads are manipulative by nature; think Dukakis and Willie Horton. (Fox has also taped ads for Representative Benjamin L. Cardin, running for the Senate in Maryland, and Wisconsin Governor Jim Doyle.)
Not to be outdone by The Left Team, self-professed conservative celebrities attempted a counter-play by releasing ads opposing the stem cell initiative ballot. "Everybody Loves Raymond" star Patricia Heaton, actor Jim Caviezel (Jesus from "The Passion of the Christ"), and football great Kurt Warner are hoping to energize opponents of embryonic stem cell research.
When Ronald Reagan was elected to the presidency in 1980, his acting past was fodder for stand-up comedians and political enemies alike. Now, with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the California governor's office, Sean Penn reporting from Iraq, and celebrity after celebrity testifying before Congress, we don't blink twice when personalities morph into our politicians, and vice versa; think former President Clinton on "Arsenio" and MTV. But do these talking heads really make us vote for the issues, turn us off completely, or just serve to create name recognition? All of the above.
All political leanings aside, and even with the man who played Jesus as his competition, I would give Fox the victory in this Battle. It's hard not to be affected by his plea and his presence; besides, who could say no to Marty McFly?
Watch Michael J. Fox's ad here, and the right-wing response ad here.
Ted Neeley, the former rock drummer who played the title superstar in the movie "Jesus Christ Superstar," is still on the road, playing Jesus in the original stage musical. In an interview with The Dialog, the Catholic diocesan paper of Wilmington, Del., Neeley, now 65, remembers the night the show opened in 1971, when protestors lined Broadway and New Yorkers "thought we were going to destroy the culture there."
"Superstar" was the first work to suggest--however quaintly it may seem to our post-"DaVinci Code" sensibilities--a physical relationship between Mary Magdalene and her rabbi. Neeley points out that the musical, despite its famous number, sung by Magdalene, "I Don't Know How to Love Him," never makes that claim. Instead, he says, the true cultural legacy of the show is that it has become "a blueprint for teaching the religious ethic of Christ."
Neeley's own legacy may be that we now know what it would have been like had Jesus stuck around long enough to appear on the "Tonight" show:
Blogging about negative campaigning could seem as old and trite as blogging about taxes: There’s a sense that it’s never gonna change. We even have news networks whose bias is so pervasive that their negativity (or positivity) about certain causes and people is predictable even before the non-media spin types get started.
But now there’s a new kind of issue: Negative campaigning about negative campaigning. Or positive campaigning, depending on your perspective. A current example is Michael J. Fox’s commercials and appearances on behalf of stem-cell research.
"They say all politics is local, but it's not always the case," say Fox says in one commercial. "What you do in Missouri matters to millions of Americans--Americans like me." It’s not a commercial for research--it’s a commercial for a Democratic candidate. And conservative commentators are attacking Fox for it: Rush Limbaugh said Fox was "either off his medication or acting."
The Associated Press story week presents both sides of the issue. “Dr. John Boockvar, a neurosurgeon and assistant professor at Weill Cornell Medical Center at New York's Presbyterian Hospital, called Limbaugh's claim ‘ludicrous’," said the story. “Boockvar said those with Parkinson's have ‘on’ and ‘off’ spells.”
“’If there is one single disease that has the highest potential for benefit from stem cell research,’ Boockvar said Tuesday, ‘it's Parkinson's," said the same story. The AP’s conclusion: “Celebrities have a long history of supporting political candidates. But there's no question that Fox, who campaigned for John Kerry in the 2004 presidential race, is uniquely suited as a spokesman for stem cell research.”
I agree.
With all of the negative campaigning of the season, those who are supporters or opponents of stem cell research should debate the merits of the issue rather than the rights of certain Americans to leverage their role in life to make their case. That kind of negativity is worse than debating the issue: it’s un-American.
Last year, a sketch character called Borat sang a song advising the world to throw the Jews down the well so his country could be free, and in the process he managed to convince the patrons in a country-western bar to sing along. The world's response? Some Jewish organizations were predictably fearful--worrying about the possibility that the sketch was promoting anti-Semitism--while many individuals around the world embraced the joke, and the comedian, behind the sketch. Many of Borat's fans were Jewish, but didn't see it as a conflict; some of them "got the joke," that people will do anything on camera, and the "not-so-jokey" part, that people are followers who may embrace anti-Semitism if it's compelling enough in the moment. Other people just thought it was funny.
This year, Borat's got a new movie coming out, called "Encyclopedia Borat and the Case of the Infernally Long and Unmemorable Fake Movie Title." (Actually, the movie's real title is "Borat's Cultural Learnngs of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan." See? Mine was easier.) So with millions of people about to be exposed to this anti-Semitic Kazakh journalist, we'll be hearing a lot about whether the movie is good for the Jews.
While Borat's creator, Sacha Baron Cohen, is himself Jewish--and, as a cover story in Entertainment Weekly noted, "wrote a thesis on the black-Jewish alliance in the American civil rights movement"--one of Borat's more famous characteristics is his virulent anti-Semitism. Most recently, People reported that he expressed a wish "to meet the fearless anti-Jew warrior Melvin Gibson." He continued, "We agree with his comments that the Jews started all wars. We also have proof that they were responsible for killing off all the dinosaurs. And Hurricane Katrina--they did it."
But what's that gibberish dialect that Borat speaks in the film? It's supposed to be his native Kazakh language, but after viewing a new trailer, Jews the world over know the truth: Borat speaks Hebrew.
In the movie, according to a report in the Jewish Telegraphic Agency (the AP of Jewish journalism): "Borat takes leave of his ancestral village, telling one resident, according to the subtitle, 'Doltan, I'll get you a new arm in America.' In fact, Cohen says in Hebrew, 'I'll buy you some kind of a new arm.' Borat also parries with his wife in Hebrew." (I am citing the report for journalistic reasons, but as a Hebrew-speaker, I can verify that this is true.)
The Entertainment Weekly article further noted that the "Kazakh" Borat speaks is actually a blend of gibberish, Hebrew, and Polish. And Borat's Wikipedia entry notes that the Kazakh journalist has been known to say the lyrics of a Hebrew folk song, "Koom Bachur Atzel." (Anyone who knows that song will now have it stuck in his or her head for the rest of the day. Sorry about that.)
Clearly, the artist behind Borat doesn't really believe Jews should all be thrown down the well, or that Jews killed the dinosaurs, any more than the creators of South Park believe that skater Brian Boitano built the pyramids and beat up Kublai Khan. But perhaps within Borat's choice of language, there's an additional wink in an already parodic portrayal. Perhaps it's even a reward for the Hebrew-speakers who can see past the
"anti-Semitism" and get the joke.
posted by Esther Kustanowitz @ 6:47 PM | Permalink |
Laura Marshall (Laura Linney), an extreme religious fundamentalist, is the villain in "Driving Lessons," a semi-autobiographical comedy written and directed by Jeremy Brock. But is Brock, who also incorporated spirituality into his adaptation of "The Last King of Scotland" (co-written with Peter Morgan), commenting on what he sees as the repressive nature of that type of religion?
It didn't seem that way when I talked to Linney, who plays the very British, very Christian, and--ultimately--very hypocritical mother of Ben (Rupert Grint of "Harry Potter" fame). Why? At heart, her character isn't religious at all.
"What I loved about how this movie is formulated is that you have one woman who portrays herself as being spiritual but she's actually theatrical," Linney said recently in New York City. "And one woman who (acts) theatrical but actually is spiritual."
That second woman is Evie Walton (Julie Walters), an aging actress based on Dame Peggy Ashcroft, who Brock worked for and befriended in his teens. In "Driving Lessons," Walters and Linney battle over Grint: the former kidnapping him for camping excursions and a long road trip (he gets the impromptu "Driving Lessons" of the title), the latter stifling him with Bible study, long-winded lectures, and rehearsals for the church pageant.
"She used the religion for her own game," Linney explained. "She liked the attention, so she would give in order to get. She liked being the person who gave the most, who did the most, so people could be dazzled by that. She was selfish, whether she was religious or not."
In real life, Brock eventually abandoned what he called the "constraints" of his mother's fundamentalism for liberal Christianity, and the differences between the two is one of the themes of "Driving Lessons." In the film, the former is represented by Linney's screen husband (Nicholas Farrell), a spineless vicar who stays home while his wife has an affair with the churchgoer playing Jesus in the pageant.
Linney found her character's extremism "particularly fun to play," and she hasn't been this deliciously despicable onscreen since "The House of Mirth." But was it hard for the actress to embody a character she didn't morally agree with?
"No," Linney said. "You just have to not judge them. And if you ask yourself 'why' all the time it makes you think about things and people in a different way. It gives you a different perspective, which I think is good to know."
It's a little surprising to me that not one, but two movies centered around magical illusion as an art form have made their ways into theaters in the last few months. Edward Norton's "The Illusionist" came and went rather quickly last summer, but last weekend's opening of director Christopher Nolan's ("Memento") "The Prestige" was considerably more successful. In our current fast-paced, entertainment-driven, technology-focused society, why would Hollywood think we should care about a couple of competing magicians from Victorian England who are bent on revenge? My theory is that this recent fascination with the art of illusion has at least a little something to do with our enduring desire for spiritual mystery.
"The Prestige" is, at its most basic level, an intricate, occasionally well-crafted murder mystery. Early on in the film, we see magician Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman) drowning in a water tank as fellow illusionist Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) watches, refusing to help. In flashbacks, we are then taken through the tumultuous connection between these two men over the years, as they work together, then compete against each other, and, eventually, destroy each other.
While the plot is overwrought and implausible, one thing Nolan does exceptionally well with this story is examine the importance, as well as the cost, of living a life of duplicity and secrecy. These men were the movie stars of their day, and the price they pay for fame and fortune is hefty. Unlike celebrity life in today's culture, these men realize that their careers depend on the general public not knowing anything about who they are or how they do what they do--in other words, mystery.
But from a spiritual perspective, what really struck me when I was watching this film is the explanation given for the three key elements of any good illusion. First, there is the "Pledge," in which an ordinary object (or person) is produced and the magician promises to endow it with something unique. The there is the "Turn," in which the object (or person) is transformed in such a way that its fate is hanging in the balance. Finally, there is the "Prestige," in which the object (or person) is miraculously rescued or restored.
I know some people will say I am reaching here, but that sounds like a great description for the mystery of our relationship with God, at least from a Christian perspective. God creates and designs us for a purpose, we are transformed--not in a good way--by our selfishness and sin, but in the end, by God's grace, we are restored in our relationship with him. It's a mystery I still don't fully comprehend.
Hindu goddesses and saints dressed in tight-fitting leotards and modern clothes, walking the violent streets of modern cities, wielding fantastic weapons and fighting evil and wrongdoers: You'll find all of this and more in the new Shakti line of comics from Virgin Comics. With names like "Devi," "The Sadhu," "Snake Woman," and "Ramayan Reborn," these editions are all about Hindu gods, goddesses, mythology, culture, and philosophy.
Shakti comics are being backed by some powerful names, including Richard Branson, the founder of Virgin, Shekar Kapur, director of "Elizabeth" and "Four Feathers," and none other than the writer and spiritual leader Deepak Chopra. Gotham Chopra, Deepak's son, is the Chief Creative Officer and Editor in Chief. Virgin Comics is based in Bangalore, India, and houses nearly 100 artists and writers in its creative studio.
For the traditionalists and the conservative Hindu community--which has been outraged by the pictures of gods and goddesses imprinted on T-shirts, shoes, bags and other clothing items--this might seem like rubbing salt on a raw wound. To the liberal, the young, and the sanguine comic reader, this might just seem like an interesting work of fiction. Either way, it will be interesting to see whether these comics are commercially successful.
In the comic books, the illustrations and stories are like those in any superhero comic book, and the stories are primarily about fighting evil and letting good prevail. Still, the books seem too bizarre at times and the comics may come across to some Hindus as a misrepresentation or a disrespect of Hindu gods and culture.
Devi, for example has been created to fight a fallen god Bala. The pure gods sacrifice a part of themselves to create this powerful new entity. Devi is voluptuous, dressed in highly unlikely clothes, and wields a lightning-like weapon that crackles and destroys. Devi is reborn in the present day and continues to fight the evil Lord Bala, this time in a tight black leather outfit and knee high boots.
This idea is innovative, but unlikely to molify Hindu conservatives, who will think of these comics as deprecating Hindu gods and goddesses. Still, Virgin Comics is trying to reinvent the rich indigenous narratives of India and is poised to expand from the realm of comics into films, television, animation, gaming, wireless content, websites, merchandise, and more. "Secrets of the Seven Sounds," a full-length animated feature for kids inspired by the ancient Indian myth Ramayana is currently in development, with Virgin Comics and Kahani World, a Toronto-based independent animation company, as co- producers.
A few weeks ago, toward the end of a festive holiday meal, the rabbi of my synagogue threw out a light-hearted challenge to us. This was back when both the Mets and the Yankees were still in the playoff hunt, and the rabbi's question was straightforward: How is baseball like Judaism? A few people tried making the connection, but nothing satisfactory came from it, and the rabbi moved on to more serious topics.
Now, having had this past weekend to ruminate on the Mets' heartbreaking loss to the Cardinals last week, I've developed my own answer to the question of how baseball, if not like Judaism as a whole, is at least like one piece of the Bible: the book of Ecclesiastes.
In baseball, as in life, you never know the outcome, and any one at-bat--like any game, season, or even career--seems to rest on little other than chance. A weak-hitting catcher belts a ninth-inning two-run homer, while a genuine superstar MVP candidate strikes out looking with the tying run in scoring position. Whether a line drive falls for a two-run double or is caught by charging outfielder; whether a pitch curves in for a perfect strike or stays outside for a ball; whether a high fly ball soars over the fence for a homerun or veers left for a foul ball or is caught on the warning track for an out; whether a ground ball skids past a diving shortstop for a single or is stopped for an easy ground-out--all of these can go either way in any situation.
Sure, talent and effort count, but so do field conditions, weather, what ballpark you're playing in, and a million other known and unknown factors.
In the face of this unpredictability, what do we do? It's easy to turn away, overwhelmed at the randomness, and withdraw. Or we can adopt an abiding pessimism, a fatalistic certitude that there is no justice and that fate is against us (see: Red Sox, Boston, pre-2004). But neither of these responses is satisfying. Instead, all we can do in the face of seemingly arbitrary fate is to get up day in and day out and play the game. We must not let yesterday's victory go to our heads and lead us to think that we are, indeed, fully in control of the outcome, nor can we let yesterday's defeat weigh us down and convince us that victory will forever be elusive.
All we can do is remember that talent and effort are important factors--ones that we can control--and try our hardest to be the best players and teammates we can be, to face our challenges and hopes and fears, and to work our hardest toward our goals. And to leave the rest in God's hands.
The documentary "Jesus Camp" directed by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady finally rolled around to my neck of the woods (Burlington, VT) this weekend. I was eager to see if the film was as "frightening" as so many journalists and reviewers have claimed, and if so, what exactly was so scary. (I would like to comment only briefly on my take on the film here. But for an additional perspective, as well as concise summary of the documentary, see my fellow blogger Kris Rasmussen's astute post, "Jesus Goes to 'Camp.'")
There is no doubt that Pastor Becky Fischer--a children's ministry leader and head of the camp central to the film--is frightening. She spouts on about preparing kids to go to war, to go into battle, to become warriors and armies--the list could goes on regarding the military language and approach she seems to understand as necessary to form children into faithful Christians. Viewers will surely leave the movie frightened that such a camp actually exists.
But what is more frightening is that the documentary directors portray Fischer's camp and ministry as if it is somehow indicative of the whole of evangelical children's ministry across America, yet they do so without providing any additional footage to back up their implied claim. How is it that anyone can make such broad conclusions about evangelicals and Christian formation from a single camp? From a single pastor? Where "Jesus Camp" fails miserably is that it sticks tightly to its title: It explores only "camp," in the singular, a sample size of one.
Ewing and Grady indeed may be onto something--that there are disturbing happenings across America with regard to our children and religion. But if that's really the case, they need to show us this with a much wider lens. And I've seen too many positive evangelical ministries to believe that these directors have given us the whole story--or even a large piece.
So if you want to see the ravings of Pastor Becky Fischer and her "Jesus Camp" go right ahead. Just remember that's all you are seeing. No more, no less.
Full disclosure: I've never been much of an Audio Adrenaline fan. First of all the name. Adrenaline is a hormone, a glandular fluid that enters the bloodstream for a short-term or circumscribed effect. It didn't promise much in the way of introspection, which I am a fan of, even in rock music; nor did it guarantee visceral fortitude.
But after 15 years in the business, 18 radio hits, countless Dove Award nominations (okay 22), Audio Adrenaline has more than lived down the name. Now that they've decided to call it quits--years of belting it out has left lead singer Mark Stuart's vocal chords in a threateningly tattered condition--the band's contribution to the Christian rock looms even larger.
Entering the Christian rock scene at a time when most Christian bands were pale imitations of mainstream names, Audio A certainly hit some familiar notes--they are most often compared to U2 and the Red Hot Chili Peppers--but had a bright melodic sense that was all their own, catchy hooks that sold their songs, and tons of energy. They first came to attention as an opening band for DC Talk, a band that took Christian rock to a new level; Audio A's success, especially their debut hit "Big House," gave that level some depth. The band and the song also made the genre more fun than it had a reputation for.
There's still time to catch the supergroup on their 35-city farewell tour with Mercy Me. The band will shut down after a final concert in Georgia in April.
Less than a month from now, the video game version of the Left Behind series, "Left Behind: Eternal Forces," will debut at big-box retailers, just in time for Christmas shopping season. The game, set in New York City, follows the basic M.O. of the bestselling Christian adventure novels. Tribulation Forces--those left behind to fight the anti-Christ after the cream of the Christian crop is skimmed off to heaven--force unbelievers to fight or switch. "Conduct physical & spiritual warfare using the power of prayer to strengthen your troops in combat and wield modern military weaponry throughout the game world," says the game's promotion material.
This connection between prayer and violence has raised the hackles of some real-life believers. "We're entertaining ourselves with a crusade against people who don't believe [in Christ]," John B. Thompson, a Christian author, told The Jewish Week. "This is madness." Left Behind Games president Jeff Frichner points out that killing someone actually lowers a player's spirituality, akin to that player's onscreen health or strength.
"Eternal Forces" is also disconcerting to some Jews, who, in the name of versimilitude, make up many of those whom "Left Behind" players will encounter in their virtual quest around Manhattan. Interestingly, both Frichner and the game's developer, Troy London, who helped create Madden NFL games, are both New Yorkers who converted from Judaism to Messianic Judaism--the faith that worships Jesus as Lord while retaining many Jewish traditions.
But the partners say their game is like any other strategic video game. "You have the force of good and the force of evil, you battle against evil and hopefully you can figure out and manage your resources to win each level and, ultimately, the game," says Frichner.
The best hope for the unconverted, perhaps, is that the game will be wildly popular, and keep Christians who would take inspiration from Left Behind fastened securely to their control sets.
The Learning Channel’s 10-part series "The Monastery" has a couple of advantages over your run-of-the-mill reality show. One is that it is shot at Christ in the Desert, a Roman Catholic monastery in northern New Mexico. TLC’s cameras capture the astounding beauty of the canyon setting’s piercing blue skies, hawks dawdling overhead and the lacework of the bare desert trees against red earth. Christ in the Desert itself is beautiful to look at, a combination of local adobe construction and medieval inspired frescoes.
It’s here that five men from all walks of life have come to sort out their spirituality. Some, like the television writer Tom, have had a loose faith in God tested by addiction or tough experiences. Others, like a former gang member-turned-counselor and a Satanist-turned-Episcopalian, are looking to develop a strong devotion. Still others have no faith at all. They learn how to pray eight hours a day, work and eat in silence, and each is mentored by one of the monks to seek God. Not all of them make it, and those that do don’t do so in predictable ways.
The other advantage of "The Monastery" is the Rule of St. Benedict, the code that guides much of Western monastic life, including the monks we meet here—and the personal development the men go through. Part of my impatience with reality TV is watching folks like you and me make choices driven by the same dull sentiments and blind ethical assumptions that got them in whatever hole they’re in to begin with (including having their lives splashed on TV). "The Monastery" instead has a moral and spiritual "plot" furnished in large part by how the men react the to rule and the monks.
Strong faith is no guarantee of success. One character warming again to his youthful Catholic faith bridles at his mentor's suggestion that he abide by the Church’s sacramental regime. At one point the Episcopalian disgustedly calls the monastery "a fortress guarding nothing." You don’t have to suscribe to the monks’ faith or their rule to find these bends in the spiritual path suspenseful and absorbing. The show debuts Sunday at 10.
We like when things are neatly packaged and easily grasped, one character in Clint Eastwood's "Flags of our Fathers" tells us: good and evil, heroes and villains. "Most of the time they aren't. But we think they are."
The movie, opening today, shows us the complex and messy depiction of the Battle of Iwo Jima. More importantly, it explores what was happening on the home front in the weeks while the battle still raged but a single photograph from its early days had galvanized the nation.
We tend to assume that that iconic photo--of six men hoisting the American flag on newly captured enemy territory--marked the end of the battle to take a small Pacific island called Iwo Jima. But that's just one of the widely held assumptions shattered by "Flags of Our Fathers," a haunting exploration of what it means to be a true hero, what it means to be a media- and government-created hero, and what it means to be an actual, three-dimensional human being who is seen by millions as a hero.
The neat and easy story goes like this: Soldiers heroically and victoriously hoist flag, giving hope to millions of Americans. "Flags of Our Fathers" presents the messy truth of it all. The photo was taken on Day 5 of what would be a 35-day battle, which, like all battles, saw confusion, horrific injuries, friendly-fire casualties, amazing feats of courage, occasional moments of cowardice, and inevitably, a death count too-high and too-grisly to contemplate.
But the moment the photo hit newspapers, it immediately became the iconic shot of World War II, and the government--broke and dispirited--new it had a winner. Though there was some confusion about just who was in the photo and which flag-raising was being celebrated (since there were two, the second done for petty reasons), the soldiers caught on film became instant celebrities. They were flown out of the battle zone to be wined and dined around the U.S. as they raised money for much-needed war bonds; this despite the fact that, in one soldier's words, "It's hard not to be called a hero for saving someone's life. But for putting up a pole?"
The movie jumps back and forth between Iwo Jima and the U.S., where we follow three soldiers--the others in the photo had been killed--as they're trotted out for audiences across the country, including one cringe-inducing re-creation of the famous flag-raising scene, complete with fireworks. Meanwhile, the soldiers must grapple with their guilt at being pulled away from their comrades while the battle rages on, their guilt at living while so many died, and their guilt at being called heroes when, in their eyes, the real heroes were those soldiers who died for their country. And, of course, they must cope with the horrific memories of what they saw there.
In truth, the soldiers were treated neither as heroes nor as icons. One was Native American, and faced discrimination and segregation despite his supposed "heroism." All were dropped like yesterday's news when they were no longer needed for the war-bond tour. The soldiers in that photograph should have been a symbol of all the heroism on Iwo Jima and throughout the U.S. military, but in the eyes of the public, it became the fame itself of being in that photo that mattered; when the soldiers tried to explain what really happened there, or when it was discovered that a particular dead soldier was not the one with his back turned in the photo, the public turned away, from the soldiers and their families, not caring about anything but to be part of the good feeling and get their own photos taken with the famous men. It was celebrity culture at its worst.
Many critics rightly see the movie as a comment on how governments package and sell wars, a message with obvious relevance to day. But "Flags" is as much, if not m
ore, about us--how we fuel and react to fame and celebrity, how we choose and treat our supposed "heroes," and how easy it is to lose sight of such things as truth and values when a presented with a simple, easy-to-digest narrative by the media and/or the government.
Though it is too long and too preachy--Eastwood spends far too much time "telling" and not enough time "showing" us how to feel--"Flags" is a brave and important movie. Despite its shortcomings, its message is one we'd all do well to contemplate in a culture so focused on celebrity, fame, and media-created "heroes."
“One anchor, five correspondents, zero credibility.” Now that’s a tagline that speaks to me.
“The Daily Show with Jon Stewart” celebrated its 10th anniversary this week. What? You’ve never watched “The Daily Show?” You don’t know what you’re missing. Being the “One News Organization with No Credibility to Lose” has worked well for this fake news show, which takes political players, Hollywood actors, major news stories as well as funny minor ones and gives it that special “Daily Show” satirical touch.
“The Daily Show” has slogged on for 10 years with the very funny Jon Stewart at its helm, and a look at this week’s guests explains its rooted popularity with those of us tired of CNN and Fox News’s spin: Attorney General John Ashcroft, comedian and author Amy Sedaris, and actor Kirsten Dunst all sat in the show’s “hot seat” this week.
Recent episodes also saw Pakistan’s President Pervez Musharraf subject himself to Stewart’s spot-on, hilarious and squirmingly uncomfortable questions. No one and no story--with the war in Iraq and any aspect of George W. Bush’s presidency as favorite fodder--is spared on this show. Politics, religion, Middle America, terrorism, Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Hollywood starlets all get deftly skewered. If you can’t laugh at this, then you don’t have a healthy sense of humor.
Take Wednesday night’s bit, when new correspondent Rob Riggle (who quickly needs to get out of his Steve Carell mode and find his own groove) traveled to Arcata, California, to interview Tom Kubbany, a regular ole American who happenes to share the middle name of Hassan with the former Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein’s second son. Kubbany discovered he was tagged as being the “son of Saddam” on his credit report when he his home loan application was rejected.
But how did “son of Saddam Hussein” get on Kubbany’s credit report? Riggle turned to Shirin Sinnar, a member of the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights (and a friend of mine), who told him that credit bureaus are getting names from the U.S. Treasury Watch list, names of people who are in no way terrorists.
Only “The Daily Show” could take an obscure story like this and run with it. Why should you care about Kubbany? Because it’s a funny and ridiculous story that speaks volumes about a serious subject like national security. It’s vintage “Daily Show.”
This show is a total joke, and yet it isn’t. Ten years and numerous Peabody Awards and Emmy wins later, it’s the show that keeps remind us that life’s better when we laugh at ourselves.
What are the odds that Matteo the talking diary, a pen named Quill Simona, and two doves called Piccolo and Fiona will become beloved animated characters just like Bambi, Pinocchio, or Winnie the Pooh?
The producers of "John Paul II, The Friend of Humanity" are hoping so. The new Vatican-approved film, revealed at a press conference this week, shows "the human side of John Paul," according to J.L. Lopez-Guardia, a Spanish animation artist who worked on the film. The producers and the Vatican are hoping that the film becomes a big hit this Christmas season.
The movie, which will be released on DVD, was made in eight languages. It starts on the night that the Pope died and then goes back to his birth in 1920, through his days in communist Poland and continuing through his 27 years in the papacy. After 30 minutes of animation, the second half shows film clips of his papacy while a narrator relates his most famous sayings and quotes.
In the wake of the recent controversy with the current Pope Benedict XVI, who in a speech quoted a Byzantine emperor's statement that Islam is "evil and inhuman," perhaps this movie will bring some positive attention to the Vatican. I don't know how hot the Christmas market is for religious-themed animated films. But I do know that Pope John Paul was beloved by millions around the world, people who probably will welcome a gentle look at his life and the way he beautifully shaped the world at large.
The poor Anti-Defamation League. The champions of tolerance--sworn especially to fight anti-Semitism--have been reduced by British comedian Sacha Baron Cohen to fretting in a press release that the cute, totally ironic anti-Semitic digs in Cohen's new movie, "Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan," might be "too sophisticated for the average moviegoer."
In the movie, Cohen plays Borat, a Kazakhstani ignoramus on a documentary tour of the United States. The setup lets Borat to take satirical pokes at American life, while also lampooning the benightedness of what might be termed either New Europe or Old Middle Asia. In Borat's Kazakhstan, women are property, horses have the vote, and every bit of hard luck is blamed on a Jewish conspiracy. In one publicity gag for the movie, Borat suggested the Kazakhstan government "sue the Jew" who erected a website in the .kz domain advertising the movie. The Jew in question is Cohen himself.
Funny, right? If you have misgivings, leave them at the door. The twisty power of irony is that it turns its critics into humorless, irrelevant drudges the moment they take the ironist to task. The Kazakhstani government, who took down the website, looked ridiculous stating, for the record, that rape is not condoned within its borders. Trying to avoid that trap, the ADL is choosing to, in the words of the blogger Wonkette, "teach comedy to Americans." Those who see the film, says the ADL, need to understand that it aims to "unmask the absurd and irrational side of anti-Semitism and other phobias born of ignorance and fear."
Or maybe the ADL is indulging in a little irony of its own. The average American moviegoer, of course, is a teenager, who already gets that bigotry is born of ignorance and fear--tolerance has been drummed into our teens since they were preschoolers--but teens will also get immediately the brute power of brandishing the word "Jew," and how Cohen plays it for laughs. The average moviegoer, in other words, is plenty sophisticated enough to mimic Cohen's multilayered humor. Fans of the Borat movie will likely be unmasking the irrational side of anti-Semitism for the rest of their lives.
In The New York Times last weekend, columnist Nicholas Kristof wrote about Muslim feminism (yes, there is such a thing, and Muslim feminism has many followers). What really caught my eye as intriguing, though, was his mention of Rima Khoreibi, who is "an author from Dubai who wrote a children's book about an Islamic superhero who is female--Iman, a teenage girl with a cape, head scarf and deep religious convictions." The book is called "The Adventures of Iman," and a sequel is due out in December.
A little bit about Iman (from Khoreibi):
Iman is a young, heroic Muslim teen age girl who loves to help those who are in trouble. She has very strong faith in Allah, or God, and when she prays for His help she feels her strength turn into super powers! Iman knows right from wrong, and she always quotes the Koran to explain to others that Islam is a great religion that expects Muslims to be tolerant, kind, righteous, and non-judgmental.
And she wears pink!
Iman always makes sure she has her pretty pink scarf around her neck at all times. She uses the scarf to cover her hair when she is praying to Allah. Iman knows how important and precious it is to have a special bond with Allah. Allah helps anyone who calls His name! Iman also wears a necklace with a pendant that she never takes off. On the beautiful pendant is written “Allah”. When Iman needs Allah’s protection she holds the pendant and says “bism-Illah”, which means “in the name of God.” The pendant then turns into a big shield to protect her from any harm.Iman is a girl who is smart, beautiful, athletic, and friendly and most of all her love and belief in Allah is what makes her the special girl she is.
It's pretty early in the new television to be speculating about which series will be cancelled, but after only two weeks on the air, the football drama "Friday Night Lights" already might be in danger. The show, which follows the challenges and triumphs of the fictional Dillon Panther football team, has received stellar reviews but has garnered less-than-impressive ratings so far, causing fans such as myself to worry that the Panthers season may be cut short.
I knew "Friday Night Lights" would be a tough sell because, historically speaking, sports dramas have never done well on TV no matter how well done they are. (Remember "The White Shadow," anyone?) But "Lights" deserves a chance not only for its authentic examination of athletics but also for its intelligent treatment of faith in rural America. The characters in "Lights" attend church or stop in the middle of a task to offer a prayer in a way that demonstrates faith as a natural, integral part of living. They face real problems and have genuine doubts that we all can identify with yet they never lose hope.
And while I am a fan of the show, there are other critics even more fervent in their support of this show. Writer Frazier Moore wrote a commentary for the Associated Press in which he called "Lights" nothing less than the heir apparent to "The West Wing." He gives a slight dis to Sorkin's "Studio 60" and then proclaims that he thinks "the spiritual successor to 'The West Wing' is 'Friday Night Lights,' whose coach bears the grass-roots equivalent of the burden once borne by President Bartlet: a constituency telling him how to do his job while he fights to stay true to his own vision.
So here is my challenge to Idol Chatter readers: If you haven't given "Lights" a try, watch tonight's episode (NBC, 8:00 p.m.). What do you have to loose? "Gilmore Girls"--which airs at the same time--has, sadly, become a pale imitation of its former self. And no one needs to waste time and energy watching a bunch of D-List stars doing the cha-cha over on ABC's "Dancing With the Stars." Instead, take a trip to Texas. You might be surprised at what you find there. And Coach Taylor and the rest of his team sure would appreciate your support.
I've written here before that Harriet Hayes, the evangelical Christian character on "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip," is a credible Christian character. It's a claim I've defended to evangelical viewers who think she's just an excuse for writer Aaron Sorkin to say that he's presented a balanced view of American Christianity--so he can otherwise focus on the crazy Christians oft-mentioned in the show.
Well, last night's episode scored a point for the Harriet-is-an-evangelical-fraud crowd. As Harriet was being grilled by a reporter, Martha, on what lines she'd cross for the sake of entertainment, we heard this exchange:
Martha: Would you have a problem doing a sketch about premarital sex?
Harriet: I don't have a problem having premarital sex! It might be the only sex I ever have.
Premarital sex is verboten among evangelicals, so there's definitely a problem with this characterization of Harriet. It's not that evangelicals never have premarital sex; it's that they wouldn't be so flippant about it. Harriet does acknowledge that she's hit taboo territory ("I just gave you your pull quote," she admits to Martha), but her tone does not seem equal to what evangelicals generally believe about sex before marriage.
I'm tempted here to evaulate the rest of the conversation between Harriet and Martha, which was largely about Harriet's faith and which was largely true to the form of evangelical culture and belief. But I'd rather leave it alone--after all, I'm mostly hoping that Sorkin creates a credible character, not a credible type. Five episodes in, it's too early to tell for sure whether Harriet will be credible as either.
In any event, the key moment in last night's episode came not during the Harriet-Martha exchange, but during the Harriet-Matt exchange, which took place on the balcony outside Matt's office as Sting performed "Fields of Gold" on the stage below. It was tender and affecting, and I realized that this love story really is the show's singular stroke of genius (five episodes in): In 2006, no lovers could be more star-crossed than those living on opposite sides of our cultural divide.
"Studio 60" might be a "Romeo and Juliet" for an America divided into Red and Blue states. Especially in Sorkinland, where political affiliations are one's deepest and most significant commitments, it's remarkable to imagine a romantic bridge across America's political-cultural gulf.
Reading the story this way reminds us that Red-Blue America has become the stuff of myth. Like all myths, Red-Blue America is more useful as an explanation of ideology than of reality: It gets the broad strokes right but can't acccount for details. And like all myths, Red-Blue America is tough to overcome, which is why we need fiction to do it for us.
So I'll be cheering for Harriet and Matt. And hoping they don't come to a Shakespearean demise.
Like any serious rockers, Christian musicians have had flings with their keyboard players, divorced their cokehead husbands, and had fans sue them for being too drunk to perform. But as this story from The Onion—still the country's most reliable fictional news source—shows, Christian bands are still far, far back on the road to credibility.
Then try the latest "Lost" online quiz, this one with a religious twist. It's pretty extensive, with a total of 101 intriguing questions, and it provides extensive answers. At the very least, it will help you brush up on those fuzzy yet important facts relevant to the show's arc. The quiz includes the following teasers (in addition to lots of general show trivia questions):
What cast member is a former counsellor at Green Bay Bible Camp in Kelowna, British Columbia: Yunjin Kim, Evangeline Lilly, or Ian Somerhalder?
The Dharma symbol is comprised of an octagon with eight variations of three lines. What do three unbroken lines (III) represent?
Jack disinfects the shoulder wound of "Henry" before changing the dressing. In one of Jesus' parables, who bandaged the wounds of a man who had been stripped and beaten by robbers?
Do you know the answers? Click here for these and more: "Lost Quiz"
Amy Berg's documentary "Deliver Us From Evil" has powerful and horrifying material to work with: a Catholic priest, the Irish-born Fr. Oliver O'Grady, who admits--right on film--that he molested at least 25 children during his 20-odd years in parishes during the 1970s and 1980s in the Stockton diocese in rural California. The bishops of Stockton, who included Roger Mahony, now archbishop of Los Angeles, instead of yanking "Father Ollie" from his pulpit and calling the police, either ignored complaints about him or ordered "counseling" and transferred him from parish to parish, always one step ahead of the outrage of his victims and their parents.
Eventually, in 1993, O'Grady was convicted of molesting two boys in his last parish, in San Andreas, Calif., sent to prison, and finally defrocked. He served seven years of a 14-year sentence and was deported to Ireland, where he now roams apparently free of police supervision and in close proximity to (at least in the film images) lots more children.
O'Grady himself, who spoke freely with Berg's interviewers until he thought the better of it and stopped cooperating, is surely one of the ickiest true-life personages ever to appear on film. His now-white hair slicked back, his eyes batting flirtatiously, he flashes an ingratiating smile as he admits with a "Yeah!" that he feels aroused by children in their underwear. Unlike most child molesters, whose tastes run exclusively to one sex or the other, O'Grady was an equal-opportunity predator. With aplomb, he describes kissing on the lips and probing inside the underwear of little Nancy Sloan, whom he invited to spend the night with him (he describes these gestures as "showing affection")--and with equal aplomb he describes working himself up to orgasm by fondling the genitals of an 11-year-old boy.
One set of parents, Bob and Maria Jyono, who regularly welcomed O'Grady as a house-guest, say that he raped their daughter, Ann, when she was five years old. Another now-grown victim, "Adam," says that O'Grady wormed his way into his mother's graces by having an affair with her so that he could freely sodomize Adam. A third of his alleged victims was a 9-month-old baby. As for remorse for his sins, O'Grady displays none, although he occasionally admits that what he did was "not correct."
Meanwhile, back at diocesan headquarters, everyone, and (apparently) especially Mahony, seemed to be in thrall to the popular 1970s notion that psychotherapy had replaced old-fashioned notions of crime and punishment, and that talking to a "counselor" could actually cure people of pedophilia. They also seemed to believe that the best way to deal with a predator-priest was to keep mum--maybe no one would find out. Some of the most fascinating footage in Berg's film is that of Mahony writhing and squirming while a lawyer in a civil suit (the San Andreas victim's family won a $30 million judgment against the diocese of Stockton) reads aloud a smarmy letter from O'Grady to his bishop thanking him profusely for his latest parish transfer. Other footage of the embittered victims, now adults whose lives have been ruined, is intensely affecting, and interviews with the Jyonos, now frail, weeping oldsters who have lost everything, including their faith in God, are almost unbearable to watch.
Had Berg stuck to this quadrangle of O'Grady, Mahony, the victims, and their parents, she would have had a riveting film. Instead, she decides to turn it all into a generalized anti-Catholic screed. Talking heads appear and reappear, mostly disaffected Catholic priests and victims' lawyers, who blame priestly celibacy for the O'Grady and numerous other sex-scandals that have recently torn apart the church.
I would have thought that lack of celibacy was the problem, but the idea is that if only priests could marry, they would lea
ve minors alone. My first thought was: So what was Mark Foley's excuse? If only congressmen could marry.... Another culprit cited in the film is the Catholic doctrine of the Eucharist, the teaching that the bread and wine at Mass become Jesus's body and blood. How's that again? Somehow there's supposed to be a connection, one of the talking heads explains, between denying holy communion to a politician who supports abortion and molesting a youngster.
Admittedly, one of the disaffected, Fr. Tom Doyle, is a once-orthodox Vatican priest whose faith, like that of the victims and their parents, tragically went haywire after he tried unsuccessfully to persuade the bishops during the 1980s to do something substantive about priestly abuse, but in this movie, Doyle comes off like a superannuated ranter at a Call to Action conference: "The church is a monarchial, hierarchical, prosecutorial system!" he shouts. The movie also attempts to finger then-Cardinal Josef Ratzinger (now Pope Benedict XVI) as responsible for the sexual transgressions and states--falsely--that President Bush granted the pope "amnesty" in a victim's civil suit. (Actually, a court ruled that there was no jurisdiction over the distant pontiff).
According to news reports, a spokesman for Mahony has complained that Berg's film similarly misrepresents the facts concerning O'Grady transfer to San Andreas in 1984, implying that Mahony's office lied to police who were investigating O'Grady at the time, whereas in fact the cops closed their investigation because the alleged victim's family declined to prosecute. I don't know whether this is true, but it is certainly true that Berg allows no quarter in her film to anyone who does not believe that the entire Catholic Church has been collectively guilty "since the fourth century" (as one disaffected theologian puts it) of permitting hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of children to be molested by clerics with impunity.
Worst of all, when O'Grady is not onscreen with his mesmerizing, Hannibal Lecter-like projection of pure depravity, "Deliver Us From Evil" fails to deliver its viewers from boredom. The movie is at least a half-hour, perhaps an hour, too long, which means that Doyle, for example, gets to deliver his "monarchial, hierarchical" speech at least twice. We also must endure a tedious trip by some of the victims to Rome (watching people sitting on a plane--that's fun!) plus a Ciao Italia! travelogue of the Eternal City while they ride around on a bus, visit churches, and try unsuccessfully to hand-deliver a letter of protest to the pope. Even the most determined post-Christian, Catholicism-hating, militant secularists may, I fear, discover that "Deliver Us From Evil" is no "Farenheit 911."
That's too bad, because "Deliver Us From Evil" contains one not-to-be-missed episode: When O'Grady gets back into the smarmy letter-writing game and make amends to his victims by sending each an individually penned letter inviting him or her to come to Ireland for a face-to-face meeting with him. The victims' response when they get the letters: Blechhh! My sentiments exactly.
In Michigan our sports culture is typically focused on the Red Wings, the Pistons, and Big Ten football. Rarely is our attention centered on our hapless excuse of a baseball team, the Detroit Tigers. So imagine my surprise when I suddenly found myself rearranging my television viewing schedule last week so I could enjoy watching those underdog Detroit Tigers roar into the World Series after dominating both the Yankees and the Oakland Athletics.
But my enthusiasm for the Tigers’ success is not rooted simply in the desire to see my home state represented in the news is a good way. Their impressive performance against both opponents reminded me of one of the reasons we revere sports in this country. I think that sometimes the victories and losses of a team we watch or support over the years matter to us perhaps more than they should because they serve as symbolic yet tangible benchmark of our own personal growth.
I say this because I am anything but a baseball fan, yet I don’t need any sports announcer to tell me how many years it’s been since the Tigers last appeared in the World Series. I remember because 22 years and two weeks ago I was a kid lying in a hospital bed after being in a serious car accident that changed my life permanently. And one of the more vivid memories I have from that time is the image of my family and friends sitting at my bedside watching the Tigers on television as a form of distraction in the midst of a bleak situation. The prognosis for a Tiger victory heading into the championship was excellent, while my own prognosis was a little less optimistic. Thankfully, the Tigers and I were both up to our separate challenges, and we both emerged victorious.
Normally, I wouldn’t share such a personal anecdote here on this blog, but I have enjoyed using this World series competition to reflect on the progress I have made over the last two decades. Like the Tigers, I have had years where I have experienced far more losses than victories. I have also been underestimated by my peers, only to have the last word. And I have learned that no matter how bleak circumstances may appear, there is a time and a season for everything. You just have to have a little faith.
Say the words "biblical epic," and certain things come to mind. Charlton Heston, Cecil B. Demille, Yul Brynner. Heavy makeup, especially eyeliner. English accents, for sure. Grandiose sets, costumes, and plot points, at the expense of biblical accuracy. Long speeches set in archaic language, with lots of "lo, behold"s and "yea, though thou hast"s. Some sort of allusion to Jesus/salvation. And for the person with more than a passing knowledge of biblical texts, a frustrating time is generally a given.
Which is what makes "One Night With the King," Gener8Xion Entertainment Inc.'s new film of the story of Esther--out in selected theaters this Friday--so refreshing. Instead of my internal voices saying "that's not right," or "jeez, what a misinterpretation of the text," I was able to sit back and actually enjoy the story, with which I, bearing the name of the queen for more than three decades, am more than a little familiar.
The nutshell story of "One Night With the King"--adapted from the book by Tommy Tenney and Mark Andrew Olsen--is itself an adaptation of what's known in Judaism as Megillat Esther (the biblical Book of Esther). Through a series of circumstances, a young Jewess, named Hadassah at the beginning of the story, changes her name to Esther (thereby concealing her Jewish identity) and ascends to the queenship of the Persian Empire. A the same time, a man named Haman, an enemy of the Jews, also gains power and gets the King of Persia to approve an order to destroy the Jews and confiscate their property.
Esther's uncle (or in some accounts, her cousin) Mordecai reminds her that she is in a position to save her people. At great personal peril, she approaches the king without having been invited to do so, and begs him to save her people--advocating on behalf of the Jews and outing herself as a Jewess. The king grants her wish, Haman is punished, and the Jews are not destroyed, and everyone lives happily ever after, giving us the reason for the holiday of Purim.
In this version of the epic, recently endorsed by the American Bible Society, the political position of Persia at that point in world history--and the roles that queens and advisors play in and outside the palace--is stressed more so than the religious themes, with the love story between Esther and the King coming in second, in terms of prominence.
The acting is good, and not distractingly overdramatic--not everyone speaks in the same accent, and that's okay. The scenery, resplendent with rich scarlets and lush golds, is reminiscent in scale and color scheme of Bollywood exports. (I later learned that the film was actually filmed in India.) Some cast members look like they just came over from the set of "Lord of the Rings" (there are two alumni of that epic in this film), and some overhead shots of Persia are so obviously CGI that one might wonder if James Cameron was involved. There were a few inconsistencies--one added character, Jesse, plays the role of "Hadassah's friend from home who would have proposed had he not been forced into becoming a eunuch in the king's palace." He serves as a messenger, mostly, but his presence in a story that's otherwise fairly faithful to the text is a bit jarring.
One standout among the actors is newcomer Tiffany Dupont, who plays Esther. In addition to being incredibly beautiful, she skillfully conveys the idealism and individuality of the young Hadassah and authentically charts the physical and emotional transition from peasant girl to queen and an agent for her nation's redemption. And John Rhys-Davies, so memorable for his roles in both the Indiana Jones and Lord of the Rings trilogies, manages to erase our memories of those films and disappear into the role of Mordecai, a role I
never would have cast him in, but which he fills brilliantly.
The film's press materials boast a "Lawrence of Arabia" reunion, since the film includes performances from legendary actors and LoA costars Peter O'Toole and Omar Sharif. But those expecting the two to share actual screen time will be disappointed--O'Toole appears as Samuel the Prophet in the "prologue" section of the movie, while Sharif's character (Prince Memucan) is a featured player in the Persia segments of the movie... and ne'er the twain shall onscreen meet.
As part of its grassroots marketing strategy, Gener8Xion Entertainment has included a three-week pastor preview screening tour as part of the film's debut. Making stops in 19 cities, the tour is especially intended for pastors, youth leaders, social service professionals, and other faith leaders. ABS's Nida Institute for Biblical Scholarship has endorsed the movie as true-to-Scripture and says that it advances the mission of ABS by making biblical stories and the Bible more accessible and appealing to people throughout the world.
I freely admit that I sat down to watch this film with a chip on my shoulder. I fully thought it was going to be atrocious. But instead, I found it to be one of the more satisfying--and less annoying--biblical epics I've seen. What will really be interesting is to see how effectively this film can mainstream the story of Esther into the popular awareness, and if it will seed the way for other biblical epics that are both dramatically effective and faithful to the text.
posted by Esther Kustanowitz @ 6:53 PM | Permalink |
Is there room for two movies about Truman Capote? That's the multimillion dollar question Hollywood is asking about "Infamous" (opening in limited release Friday), which tells the story of how the larger-than-life writer researched and wrote his groundbreaking nonfiction novel "In Cold Blood." Yes, it's the same story told in last year's Oscar-winning "Capote." And yes, there is room for two movies covering the same fertile territory.
Despite the plethora of films about him, Truman Capote's life is a challenging one to film. If most journalists want to blend into the background, soaking up facts and opinions and the essence of a story inconspicuously, Capote was all performance, forever the center of attention, especially his own. His story gives moviemakers a lot to work with--an outlandish personality is always fun to watch--but makes it difficult to scratch beneath the surface and get at the real human being underneath. If "Capote" masterfully recreated the life of performance that Capote lived, "Infamous" succeeds in breaking through that artifice, suggesting answers to some of the lingering questions left by the previous movie.
The new film doesn't quite provide the answer to "Who was Truman Capote?" but it gives it a try, and the results are illuminating. We find out about his character-defining childhood trauma, and, through faux interviews, hear what the people closest to Capote thought of him. And "Infamous," more so than "Capote," portrays its subject in all his flamboyantly gay fabulousness. Standing a good head shorter than even many of his female friends, we see Capote both in his preferred element--gossiping with the high-society ladies with whom he loved to lunch, dance, and swap stories--and out of it, as he heads to small-town Kansas to report on the murder there of an upstanding farming family.
In the film, Capote is a man who seems to divide everyone he encounters into two groups: sources and subjects for his stories--and lucky listeners to those wonderful and witty tales. He is self-centered to the point of being entirely tone deaf to others' needs and pain, whether they be the society ladies whose confidence he betrays regularly and remorselessly for the sake of spreading good gossip or the small-town sheriff into whose office Capote barges, demanding full access, insisting he's a "writer," not a "reporter," and ranting about how he's out to redefine the very definition of "reportage."
It's the two people in his life not from upper-class society--his boyfriend, Jack, and his childhood friend, Harper Lee, known as Nelle--who keep Capote grounded, to the extent that he's ever grounded. But gradually, Capote's obsession with the Kansas case strains his relationship with Jack, while Harper needs to return to her own life and career ("To Kill a Mockingbird" is coming out...), a fact Capote takes as a betrayal.
Into that void steps the most unlikely character, and that is Perry Smith, one of the confessed murderers. At first, Capote sweet-talks him for the same reason he does everyone else, to get his story. But as their conversations intensify, we see a new side of Capote, and realize he's not acting this time: He's falling in love with the subject of his book, a vicious murderer whose fate will either be life in prison or the gallows. Capote, of course, isn't selfless enough in love to unambiguously root for Perry's life to be spared; he understands that a death sentence will sell a lot more books, and is genuinely torn.
But Perry, like Jack and Nelle, manages to break through Capote's perpetual performance and call him on his attitude toward others: "I'm not a cha
racter. I am a human being," he tells Capote, defining exactly the central problem of Capote's life, the reason that despite all the friends, despite the hob-nobbing with Hollywood glitterati, despite the air of fun and joy he constantly exuded, he was deeply lonely.
In Perry, Capote finds what he believes to be his true soul-mate; in his mind, they're two wounded artists who rely on their art to cope with a troubled world: "Artists have the power to escape a degenerate world and create a better one," he says. "Infamous" makes clear that one brush with reality--in the form of a convicted murderer with a sensitive exterior--is enough to ruin Capote, as he slides into a life of alcoholism following Perry's hanging. And even in the end, Truman Capote remains unable to truly leave behind the artifice and performance that defines him, as he fabricates for his friends a story about Perry issuing a last-minute apology for his crimes.
It's not hard to see why Truman Capote is suddenly on filmmakers' minds. In a culture where "reality" is an idea bandied about lightly by TV networks and the White House alike, where we're all about detached irony and the latest YouTube sensation, it's instructive to take a look at a master of performance and reality-bending like Capote. Whether we see him as an example to be emulated or a warning to be heeded can say a lot about our own vantage point and values.
Looking for a good B-movie sci-fi thrill? Well, "Final Days of Planet Earth," billed by the Hallmark channel as an apocalyptic three-hour movie "event," premieres this Saturday, October 14th. And of course, when I say good, what I really mean is "Gilmore Girls" movie good: so ridiculous you can't stop watching, great for laughs at the super-seriousness of a plot so silly it's worth settling in for the night with lots of take-out, junk food, and a readiness to "oooh" and "aaah" that the likes of the respectable Campbell Scott and Daryl Hannah agreed to star in it! Oh, what some celebs will do for a turn on any screen.
Former astronaut William Phillips (Campbell Scott) worries something big is up when people begin mysteriously disappearing from his city. But worse still was that strange disappearance of his entire crew from space several years before. And he's right to be concerned: The apocalypse is nigh, and it's arriving in the form of a giant ant-like creature--the alien "Queen"--that's taken over his former astronaut colleague Liz Quinlan's (Darryl Hannah) body. (I suppose it's fitting that the actress who made her name as a mermaid would take on other roles involving non-human-creatures.)
Rather than a "Left Behind"-style Christian apocalypse, "Final Days of Planet Earth" is strictly sci-fi in its end-of-the-world sensibility. So if you have nothing else to do this weekend, ask yourself: What Would Rory and Lorelai do? Pick up that phone to the nearest Chinese takeout place, open that Halloween candy a little early, and hunker down for some ongoing commentary you won't be able to resist as with each hour, the movie gets even more ridiculous.
This morning, the first installment of Mel Gibson's two-part interview on Good Morning America aired, hyped as the first time we would hear the Hollywood star's own account of the events of July 28, 2006. On that night, an intoxicated Gibson, who has battled alcoholism for decades, was arrested for drunk driving, unleashing a barrage of anti-Semitic remarks in the process.
Gibson will address the anti-Semitism (including his remark that "the Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world") in more detail tomorrow. But this morning's installment did not bode well for anyone who hopes to see genuine contrition and humility from the actor.
For one thing, practically all of Gibson's comments were "you" statements, not "I" statements: "You lose all humility;" "Your judgment is impaired enough to do insane things like try and drive at high speeds;" "You go, what did I do that for?"
The "you" context may have been intended to show some wisdom Gibson feels he had gained from his experience, wisdom he was ready to share with the world. But delivered as they were--in a highly twitchy, manic style--the comments instead took on an air of defensive denial, like these are somebody else's problems. Even his nod to religion--Gibson is a theologically conservative Roman Catholic--was distancing: "It's God. You've got to go there."
The other troubling aspect of Gibson's interview was the cavalier tone he took, physically and verbally. Several times, he unleashed a big grin, perhaps going for the "aren't I just a boyish rogue?" image. Gibson even wore an impish smirk when he admitted he had "a few cold ones" the morning after his arrest, while he was explaining the incident to his children. His choice of words in the interview was equally unsatisfying--he repeatedly said he was "loaded," not drunk. When Diane Sawyer asked him what he might have said had he been pulled over by an African American police officer, instead of a Jewish one, Gibson quipped, "I'd have to get loaded and tell you. And then be in those conditions again. Because it's unpredictable what's gonna come flying out."
It's possible that Gibson's mannerisms are the reactions of someone so deeply embarrassed by his behavior, he doesn't know how to act. But wait--at the very least, isn't Gibson an actor? Not to mention a person of faith who should be a little more comfortable with seeking forgiveness? Today's interview raises serious doubts that Gibson can re-connect with the show of humility and contrition that followed his arrest.
As he himself put it in the interview, "You can't put the toothpaste back in the tube."
Could it be that Alex Rodriguez has let go of the superstitions that most athletes would have you believe decide their fate and instead hopes to achieve inner peace and self-love through self-help books?
One of the more over-analyzed athletes in the business (outside steroid-embroiled Barry Bonds), the $252 million man seemed to drop (and miss) the ball, literally, more than any one New York Yankee should in a season. This all lead to a media firestorm of reporters and sports analysts trying to determine what went so totally off-kilter with Mr. A-Rod, who recently has become a symbol of all that is wrong with the Yankees.
A New York Times writer, giving Alex Rodriguez a piece of friendly advice as the Yankees slip hopelessly into another off-season, offered readers some brief spiritual insight to A-Rod's troubled state of mind these days in a story published in Tuesday's sports section. Staring inside A-Rod's dressing stall, writer Harvey Araton noticed some curious displays of self-help reading: Beside an autographed baseball from Detroit Tigers legend Al Kaline sat "Awakening the Buddha Within: Tibetan Wisdom for the Western World," a book by noted Buddhist scholar Lama Surya Das. But that's not all. Best-selling author Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, who the article quotes as advising his followers, "Have a mind that is open to everything and attached to nothing," has apparently struck an emotional chord with A-Rod, with his book "10 Secrets for Success and Inner Peace."
This small but telling discovery, Araton says, may be further proof that A-Rod was just not made for these Bronx Bombers.
"[Yankee owner George Steinbrenner]--more a slogan-spouting disciple of Churchill and Patton-- is no Buddha," he wrote. "And he probably wouldn't respond with great enlightenment to the revelation that A-Rod was in possession of an autograph from an old Tiger while Detroit was beating the Yankees' brains in and A-Rod was, once again, flunking October."
One might be inclined to applaud A-Rod for taking the time to read a few self-improvement books, as he continues to battle the demons that contributed at least in part to the Yankees unraveling this season. Certainly any of today's scandal-ridden athletes can stand to gain a modicum of self-awareness from inspirational authors such as Surya Das and Wayne Dyer.
And if you try not to believe everything you hear about the ego-ridden enigma that is A-Rod, it may make just as much sense to conclude that his display of reading materials is a sign that at least this Yankee has decided there may be more to being a great athlete than statistics can reveal.
Harry Potter and friends are certainly not strangers to banishment by all sorts of religious groups, including the Vatican. But one Georgia mom, Laura Mallory, is trying to protect her kids by having Harry Potter banned across the board from all county libraries and schools. The Associated Press reports:
"A suburban county that sparked a public outcry when its libraries temporarily eliminated funding for Spanish-language fiction is now being asked to ban Harry Potter books from its schools.
Mallory, a mother of four, told a hearing officer for the Gwinnett County Board of Education that the popular fiction series is an "evil" attempt to indoctrinate children in the Wicca religion.
Board of Education attorney Victoria Sweeny said that if schools were to remove all books containing reference to witches, they would have to ban "Macbeth" and "Cinderella.""
Mallory used brochures for Harry Potter-themed summer camps as ammunition in her presentation to support her arguments that the real design behind J. K. Rowling's beloved series is to indoctrinate kids into the Wicca religion.
My response: "There's Harry Potter summer camps? Do they have them for adults?"
Readers of Entertainment Weekly's cover story on Battlestar Galactica's third season premiere probably weren't shocked to read that this year's series would be colored with shades of occupied Iraq. President Gaius Baltar's surrrender of New Caprica to the Cylons and collaboration with the man-made robots set up the perfect lead-in to a modern morality tale, reflecting not only current events in the Middle East, but Nazi Germany and Serbia as well.
Science fiction shows have always tackled important topics of the day, cloaked in the safety of events occurring in a galaxy far, far away. "Star Trek" tackled racism in one of its most famous episodes--featuring the Cherons with faces that were half black and half white--and even showed the first interracial kiss on television. But "Battlestar Galactica" is moving light years beyond other shows--such as "Doctor Who," with it's wink to fictional "Mass Weapons of Destruction"--by creating confrontational, and at times uncomfortable, viewing.
Horace Newcomb, director of the Peabody Awards, told E!Online, when Battlestar Galactica won that award, that "it treats contemporary issues from an angle that really make you think about those issues... issues of race, gender, all those things are dealt with in that context."
Having found an inhabitable planet, the newly elected President Baltar leads most of the remaining human race down to settle New Caprica. However, Captain Adama and much of the fleet remain abord ship, circling the planet for fear of a Cylon attack. For one year, all is peaceful, and then the Cylons appear, wrangling the humans on the planet into shanty towns and zones, creating an occupied New Caprica. The fleet, ill-prepared after a year of lazing around, and having lost much of its crew, retreats in order to regroup and retrain those still aboard.
The season opener features scenes of prisoners being kept in Guantanamo-like conditions, intimations of horrific tortures, random detentions, mass executions, and secret police made up of humans working with the Cylons. The human resistance retaliates with a coordinated series of suicide bombings--a practice most viewers find abhorrent, having seen casualty counts rising from these type attacks on the evening news. But, these are the "good guys" carrying out the attacks; the type of underhanded attacks politicians and pundits ascribe to cowards.
As a whole, the Cylons remain unambiguously the "bad guys," with the marvelously malevolent Dean Stockwell Brother Cavil forcing Baltar to sign an order of mass execution for anyone suspected of helping the underground. The picture being painted is not subtle, and the strokes are broad--no more so than 2005's FX cinema verite-shot Iraq War drama "Over There," but again, this is all taking place in a galaxy far, far, away.
The trademark Mohawk is looking a little sparse, and age has begun to scrunch further his bulldog features, but Mr. T, who laid claim to the tagline "I pity the fool" a quarter-century ago, is back in a reality series, "I Pity the Fool," that debuts tomorrow night on TV Land.
He's back, but not badder than ever. The show is "reality" in the heavily (and, here, somewhat jarringly) edited family-makeover genre, in which toughness is matched with teary truth-telling--think "Nanny 911" with an old-school tracksuit instead of that fetching maroon cape and deerstalker. In Wednesday's premiere episode, T gets the unyielding owner of a flagging car dealership to admit that his beleaguered general manager, who is also his son-in-law, is a hard worker and wonderful father. Their reconciliation clears the way for the sales staff to address their more mundane business problems. That insight--that dysfunctional groups have to fix their basic relationships first--is the basis for the second episode as well.
Though the soundtrack is drenched in T's familiar growl and we see repeated close-ups of his fist, what makes "I Pity" worth a trip to TV Land is the moments when we see him soften. After a long layoff, during which he fought with lymphoma and deepened his Christianity, Mr. T is more lover than fighter. (He recently swore off his signature gold chains out of respect for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.) Amid his patented bluster, we get hints along the way of Mr. T's own redemption, and his belief that a loving relationship that makes the family's renaissance more credible, and more touching.
Why are environmental ethics treated with such suspicion among evangelicals? It's a question that has bugged me for years, but the answer is an easy one: because evangelicals, by and large, vote Republican. I often argue that evangelicals are not monolithic in their views, but the environment is a subject that gives my argument pause. Most evangelicals I know either don’t care about environmental ethics or don't support environmental regulation; many consider global warming a bully pulpit for the left. I know green evangelicals, but they are an exception to the rule.
In the last year, however, we've had occasion to believe that all this may be changing. Bill Moyers' "Is God Green?" (airing tonight on PBS) is another in a series of media notices that those green exceptions in evangelicalism are growing in number and volume.
After watching "Is God Green?" I was both hopeful and chagrined. Hopeful because evangelicalism's environmentalists are so much more well-spoken, humble, and just plain likeable than the evangelicals who tow the industry-first, environment-second Republican party line. Rich Cizik of the National Association of Evangelicals may be reviled by some of his fellow evangelicals for leaning left on the environment and social justice, but he's clearly a man motivated by Christian convictions. Same for the other evangelical environmentalists Moyers interviews, including Tri Robinson, a green pastor in Idaho, and a group of West Virginia evangelicals whose tap water has been contaminated by the Massey Energy Company. (Their story is the most moving part of "Is God Green?"--an "Erin Brockovich" for the evangelical set.)
But I was chagrined, too, because Moyers' program portrays just how difficult it is for real change to occur on this issue in evangelicalism. It'll happen, but it'll be slow, because many evangelical leaders have uncritically embraced the silly notion that environmental ethics can only be a project of the secular left. Moyers reminds us of the claims of U.S. Senator James Inhofe, a professed evangelical, that global warming is the greatest hoax ever perpetuated (!) on the American people. We hear similar hyperbole from the Revs. Pat Robertson and James Dobson, and get an earful on God's willful destruction of the earth (at the willing hands of ExxonMobil) from E. Calvin Beisner, professor of theology at Knox Theological Seminary.
Evangelicals appreciate and trust their leaders--again, not monolithically, but by and large. For evangelicals to begin to take the environment seriously as an aspect of Christian priorities, they'll have to be led. Many of congregants at Tri Robinson's church were closet environmentalists, but they did not feel free to care for creation until Pastor Robinson gave them permission. Rich Cizik says his conversion to environmentalism occurred only after he heard the case for global warming from Sir John Houghton, a trustworthy evangelical scientist.
In my hometown of Colorado Springs, it's been wonderful to have Ted Haggard, president of the National Association of Evangelicals, take steps toward broadening evangelical priorities to include creation care. And Haggard walks (or rather, rides) what he talks, puttering around town on a scooter in a community that adores its SUVs. Many parishioners have followed suit: Word on the street is that local scooter dealers have a long waiting list.
Good signs, all, and hopefully part of real change. Moyers' doesn't answer his program's titular question--Is God green?--but he does give us reason to hope that evangelicals can be.
New Yorkers jumped, screamed, raised their hands, and waved their arms at the Nokia Theatre in New York City on Sunday night as MercyMe headlined a concert with newcomer Phil Wickham (whose voice evokes a bit of Jason Wade from Lifehouse) and well-seasoned band Audio Adrenaline.
Most known for their hit single "I Can Only Imagine," which played repeatedly on mainstream radio, MercyMe recently released a new album, "Coming Up to Breathe," an infectious, energetic rock-worship album that faintly recalls the sounds of Casting Crowns, the David Crowder Band, and the now-defunct band, "Seven Day Jesus."
When MercyMe first began gaining recognition, they toured and opened for Audio Adrenaline. Now that Audio Adrenaline is ending their career, they were on their last tour as one of the opening acts for MercyMe. Lead singer Mark Stuart took the stage encouraging fans onto the platform with him and playing favorites such as "Big House," "Ocean Floor," and closing with a final bittersweet song, "Goodbye." Even though I'd never seen Audio before in concert, Mark sang with incredible heart until his voice began wavering, a sad and poignant revelation that his voice was starting to "reach the end," a main reason why Audio is disbanding. However, given the huge response and loud sing-alongs, Audio's career may be ending, but its legacy will not be.
The rest of the night continued to be an exuberant, rock-edged worship service where, in-between euphoric songs such as "Coming Up to Breathe" and "So Long Self," everyone freely proclaimed the name of Jesus and were intermittently led in prayer by MercyMe's Bart Millard. MercyMe also paid a tribute to Audio, singing the slow worship ballad, "Tremble." Winding down the night, MercyMe sang their signature song "I Can Only Imagine" and then ended their two-song encore with an enthusiastic burst of "One Trick Pony."
Singing, praising, and worshipping with other Christians--famous and not famous--in the middle of Times Square was a crazy, amazing, and blessed experience. Meeting Audio Adrenaline's lead singer and all the band members of MercyMe at a media meet-and-greet was even more heart-stopping. Even while it's silly to fawn over any celebrity, there was something indescribably special about meeting such humble, down-to-earth, and talented artists. I'm hoping these guys continue making music
and come back to New York soon (after their Hawaii stop in April 2007), a city all the musicians said had the best and most incredible audience.
Since it's rare for Christian bands, who get their start out west and down south, to headline at any venues in New York City, the excitement of east coast fans always escalates into a palpable collective heartbeat. For one evening, that heartbeat and the soul of God-centered music was definitely alive in the center of the crowded neons and drifters of Times Square.
Perhaps no director has spent more time examining the seedy underbelly of modern American culture than Martin Scorsese ("Goodfellas," "Gangs of New York"), and his newest effort, "The Departed," is no exception. Scorsese brings his trademark no-holds-barred grit and gloom to a cat-and-mouse game between two young men--one a cop and the other a crook --in a movie that attempts to have all of the pathos and moral impact of a Greek tragedy, but with unsatisfying results.
Set in Boston, the movie follows the career of Irish mafia boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson), who has strategically placed one of the best and brightest from the Massachusetts Police Academy, detective Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon), within the Boston state police department to work as a mole for his organization. However, the state police have their own mole --Billy Costigian (Leonardo Di Caprio)--infiltrate Costello's syndicate so they can arrest Costello. Both men are wracked with guilt as they are sucked deeper into Costello's web of deceit and violence and as they grow closer and closer to discovering each other's identities.
For anyone expecting this thriller to be of the level of "Raging Bull," "The Departed" is not much more than a mediocre rehash of much of Scorsese's previous work. There are, to be sure, some stellar moments in the film, but its weaknesses overpower those moments of brilliance. Di Caprio's performance as the troubled Costigian is amazing, but Nicholson chews the scenery like he's playing The Joker in another Batman sequel, while Damon is just plain unconvincing as the two-faced Sullivan. And then there's the completely convoluted love triangle-with-a-shrink storyline that is almost impossible to get past.
What troubles me most when I watch a Scorsese film, including this one, is that I always come away with a nagging feeling that Scorsese is not a big believer that grace, mercy, and redemption truly exist in our society. For Scorsese's characters, it always seems as if these spiritual ideals are only abstract concepts that never become flesh-and-bone reality. And while I have heard some critics laud the final seconds of "The Departed" as Scorsese's subtle nod to the power of light overcoming the darkness in a cruel world, I find that a bit of a stretch.
More importantly, the hopelessness of "The Departed" makes me wonder even more about the fate of Scorsese's current project--a film adaptation of "Silence," a book about Japanese martyrs, which all of my Catholic friends insist I should read.
This is a story of gratitude, and that's why I am excited about "Little Children." Not that the story has anything to do with gratitude; it's a hilarious, biting social satire about suburban boredom and grown men and women acting as much like the title's "little children" as their offspring do. The novel, by Tom Perrotta, is wonderful, and the movie is getting amazing reviews. But that's only part of why I am excited about it.
No, the gratitude in question here is more personal: Tom Perrotta was my college writing teacher, and it's no exaggeration to say he is the reason I've chosen the career I have. He was that teacher for me, the one I will always remember, the one who inspired me and pushed me and made a difference. Though he is a novelist and I opted to go the nonfiction route, he remains my greatest professional influence. He taught me to write, and more important, he gave me confidence in my writing, without which my life would have looked vastly different: I would likely have followed the pack to law school, ending up much better paid (um, thanks a lot, Tom), but far emptier inside, where it really counts. Come to think of it, I could've ended up not unlike the desperate characters of "Little Children." But I digress...
What was remarkable about Tom is how patently clear it was that he didn't want to be where he was, teaching college writing courses: He just wanted to write, but as he waited and waited for his writing to proffer a paycheck, he did what so many others have done, taking thankless adjunct-type positions to pay the bills--not that they really even did that. Despite that, though, he never showed the least bit of bitterness or resentment, and managed to have a profound influence on his students, even as he strived to succeed in the literary world and say good-bye to grading papers. He stuck to his dream, refusing to give up, believing in himself, even as he and his wife started a family and he hit his mid-30s. In other words, long past when a lesser person, and a lesser writer, would have given up and gone to Wall Street (or law school). And in the end, his tenacity and sacrifice paid off, and his succession of novels has reached ever-larger audiences. It couldn't have happened to a better person.
Though I dreamed of it, I never had the cojones to choose that sort of life of struggle and poverty for the sake of my writing. Luckily, I had good teachers, who gave me the skills to succeed as a working journalist. And that's why I can't wait to see "Little Children." Thanks, Tom.
If you're an evangelical Christian wondering about how you're being perceived in popular culture these days, you might be planning to see "Jesus Camp." Change your plans. Watch "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip" next Monday night instead.
"Jesus Camp," with its stark representation of Christian fundamentalists at the margins of mainstream evangelicalism, offers an intriguing but uninformed view of Bible believers in America. Aaron Sorkin's engrossing "Studio 60" offers something far more complex. Not only does Sorkin have a bigger stage and a longer reach, but--if the first three episodes are any indication--his views on evangelicals are more comprehensive, substantial, and intelligently critical than anything in "Jesus Camp."
In the series pilot, the narrative about the show-within-the-show is launched when a studio executive orders a skit called "Crazy Christians" to be cut so as not to offend (crazy) Christian viewers. The show's producer responds with an on-air tirade against the neutering of culture at the hands of these conservative religious sensibilities. In come our heroes, Jordan McDeere (Amanda Peet), Matt Albie (Matthew Perry), and Dannie Tripp (Bradley Whitford), whose heroism lies not just in their creativity and willpower to rescue the show-within-the-show, but also in their willingness to stand up to the Christian conservatives who have scared the show into a stupor. By the third episode of "Studio 60," our heroes have aired the offending skit, called the bluff of a Christian boycott, and been rewarded with an unprecedented gain in Nielson ratings.
Some viewers have complained that we never actually see the skit "Crazy Christians," but really, we don't need to. Crazy Christians are fore-grounded again and again in "Studio 60" as we learn that part of the daily grind of a television executive is putting up with the conservative Christian press (Rapture Magazine!), Christian affiliates, and Christian picketers outside the studio lot. Crazy Christians are referenced routinely in the show's smug dialogue:
Jordan: "I wanna know how Rapture Magazine gets credentialed for an NBS press conference!"
Shelly: "You think it should be the policy of this network to exclude religious publications?"
Jordan: "We're not talking about the Christian Science Monitor. How many whack-jobs read Rapture Magazine?"
Shelly: "It has a circulation four times the size of Vanity Fair."
Jordan: "Are you kidding?"
Shelly: "No, I'm not."
Jack: "I'm a little surprised myself, Shelly."
Shelly: "You shouldn’t be."
Jack: "The rapture is what I think it is, right? The world comes to an end, believers go up in a spaceship?
Jordan: "It's not a spaceship; it's Jesus Christ."
Dialogue like this is a Crazy Christians skit. Again and again in "Studio 60," we're reminded that crazy Christians are a part--an annoying and unavoidable part--of American life.
But "Studio 60" contains a giant caveat to its ongoing critique of evangelicals: Harriet Hayes (Sarah Paulson), the evangelical Christian star of the show-within-the-show. She's hip, she's hot, and she's hilarious. She's a credible, likable character, and she's a Christian. When, on last week's show, Harriet argued to Matt that a particular joke should be taken off the air so as not to offend the small town that was the joke's butt, I wanted to stand and cheer. That's the kind of thing a good person--not just a good evangelical--would do. And letting an evangelical be a good person and a good character... well, it's enough to make us think tha
t Sorkin might have talked to a Christian or two rather than just read about them in the newspaper.
More importantly, Harriet is an accurate representation of a fact rarely mentioned: Evangelicals aren't just (and aren't all) politically active home-schoolers and megachurch-goers. They are also people who live and work in every aspect of the marketplace, including (gasp!) the entertainment media. That's right: When you're watching "That '70s Show," attending a Broadway play, and listening to a favorite indie pop song, you're often being entertained by evangelicals, unawares.
I mention this not as a triumph of evangelicalism (perish the thought), but just to note that Sorkin is making sense of the poles of religion in American life. What seems aggravatingly abnormal in some instances--crazy Christians--has an astonishingly familiar, and more congenial, face in other instances. Sorkin seems to understand that evangelicalism is more than the sum of its parts. Thus far in "Studio 60," he's achieving something resembling a fair representation of evangelicals: They are those boycotters, those megaphones of moral values; but they are also men and women whose personal expressions of faith are more complicated and nuanced than the big picture reveals.
The re-release of Warren Beatty's 1981 film "Reds" has put the star in the usual rotation of magazines and TV interviews. My favorite so far is Premiere's wonderfully entrancing interview, in which the recollections of Beatty's friends and co-workers are spliced into the q&a. At one point Beatty adds dimension to earlier comments that his strict Southern Baptist upbringing led, by a sort of whiplash effect, to his famously rampant pursuit of women as an adult. Asked why he lost his virginity at the late (in the interviewer's judgment) age of 19, Beatty responds, "Principles. I was a sort of self-enforced Southern Baptist as a teenager, from about 13. My parents didn't push me in that direction at all." He adds, "That's all I have to say on the subject, particularly today when there's so much selling of religion."
That not all Beatty has said on the topic of his childhood faith, of course. Religion, apparently, has motivated more than his sexual adventures. Last year, at a time when it was rumored he would run for California governor, the longtime Democratic political activist told graduating students at UC Berkeley's Goldman School of Public Policy, "As a Southern Baptist in Virginia, I was taught that good public policy was, 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' I was taught 'Love one another' was the point."
It looks like he took this as gospel, and not only in his public life.
The third season "Lost" premiere opened with the most shocking five minutes since Desmond's self-revelation about causing the plane crash. For the first time, viewers see the mid-air crash of Oceanic Flight 815 from the perspective of the Others. As we see the spectacular explosion of the plane, we also see how "the Other" half lives--in a strange "suburb" located in a grassy plain on the island. We also see the ringleader of the Others, Ben (a.k.a. Henry Gale), quickly bark out orders to his followers (Ethan and Goodwin) to infiltrate crash sites as plane survivors.
The fate of Jack, Sawyer, and Kate are also quickly revealed, each one waking up in a confined space suitable for test animals. Jack, of the analytical and scientific mind, is enclosed in a room with a glass wall, as if being prepped for probing beneath a microscope. Sawyer, primal and rough-around-the-edges, is enclosed in a rusty cage once used to house bears. Kate, walking the line between good and bad, is first granted a civilized shower, a meal, and a beautiful dress but is eventually locked up in another rusty cage across from Sawyer.
Viewers also learn more about Jack's messy divorce from his wife, and see more of Jack's descent to the bottom as he becomes unable to find the ability to save his marriage, his relationship with his dad, and his growing desperation for normalcy.
New characters are also introduced: (1)Juliet, the seemingly sympathetic, soft-spoken Mary-figure who tries to befriend Jack; and (2) a mysterious teenage boy who, originally locked up in the cage across from Sawyer, attempts to escape and is caught.
This third season will be tantalizing, as we discover more about the Others, who may or may not be past volunteers/test subjects for the Dharma Initiative, and more about the foreshadowed trials that will soon face Jack, Sawyer, and Kate. Plus, instead of seeing the ring leaders of the plane survivors manipulate each other out of self-interest, we'll see the Others probe and manipulate them to get what they want...
Say "Idi Amin," and the response will almost certainly be vehement, a furious reference to the thousands killed or a whole-hearted endorsement of the changes he wrought on Uganda in the 1970s and '80s. You'll find a more balanced point of view in "The Last King of Scotland," adapted from Giles Foden's novel by screenwriter Peter Morgan, who also gets under the skin of a historically stoic Queen Elizabeth II in "The Queen."
Here Morgan (along with co-writer Jeremy Brock) debunks the idea that Idi Amin was either tyrant and savior, turning him instead into a dangerously charismatic leader who liked to tell strangers that he knew the day--and cause--of his death.
For actor Forest Whitaker, who outwardly resembles Amin (the stature, the bulk, the charm) starring in "Scotland" was a time-consuming feat. First there was the research--countless tapes watched and books read and costumes tailored and one region-specific accent learned. But the most challenging aspect of transforming, however briefly, into the infamous dictator was finding a spiritual connection that had nothing to do with physical appearance.
"Trying to find the spirit of the guy was really hard," Whitaker said when he sat down with journalists at a New York hotel in September. "I'm searching for a connection inside myself."
What would that connection be? For starters, Amin, who in the film first befriends and then turns against a young Scottish doctor named Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy), it was the distinction that Amin, like himself, was a spiritual man.
"Idi Amin would reference spiritual things," said Whitaker, who stipulated that though Amin "became more in touch with his belief system" when he left Uganda for Saudi Arabia, "all through his reign he was saying things like, 'I had a dream…, ' 'I know the moment of my death. No one can kill me.' And I think he really believed that. I think that was key to his personality."
It's also a key to the movie, which is beautifully directed by first-timer Kevin MacDonald and follows the fictional young Scot Garrigan from his medical school graduation to his impulsive, missionary-esque trip to Uganda. He arrives just as Amin has taken over and falls first for the wife (Gillian Anderson) of the doctor he's assisting, then for a powerful and unexpected offer: Amin invites him to live in the palace as his personal physician.
Faith is a subplot, but the focus of the film is loyalty. Nicholas, a Protestant, is drawn both by Amin's charm and his obvious power, but their impulsively formed friendship begins to unravel when Nicholas seeks to find out more about disappearing members of the government, and it devolves dangerously when Nicholas sleeps with Amin's beautiful, neglected wife (Kerry Washington).
This is first-class filmmaking, from the photography (on location in Uganda), to the music (by Alex Heffes). But the real reason to see "Scotland" is Whitaker, who will almost certainly be nominated for an Oscar, and (in my opinion) ought to win. What Whitaker does isn't mimicry, it's absolute embodiment on a level that isn't just physical--think Philip Seymour Hoffman as Truman Capote or Nicole Kidman as Virginia Wolff, only possibly more powerful and definitely scarier.
How, then, did the actor leave Amin behind after a grueling shoot?
"I take a shower," Whitaker said. "I kind of wash the character away."
Madonna has made endless headlines this summer with her controversial crucifixion scene during her Confessions Tour. Apparently, Courtney Love is aiming for a piece of the religious action, too.
The cover image of photographer David LaChappelle's new book, "Heaven and Hell," in stores this November, is Courtney Love--with a large, bright halo of light surrounding her flowing, blond hair, her body draped in a familiar blue garment, her eyes turned heavenward, as a dying man, dressed only in a loincloth and resembling her late husband Kurt Cobain, lies across her lap.
In the image, Love strikes a Virgin Mary-like pose while cradling a doppelganger of her late husband, Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain. Meanwhile, a baby--presumably the pair's daughter, Frances Bean--uses alphabet blocks to spell out the title of LaChapelle's book.
Will Love's appearance as Mother Mary strike the same ugly chord with media and religious groups as Madonna's crucifixion scene?
Sure, back in April I blogged about my love for baseball's Opening Day, with all its hope and possibility. And I am sure I meant it at the time. But, 162 grueling games later, my N.Y. Mets are staring at their best shot at a World Series title since, well, the last time they won it, in 1986. If Spring Training and Opening Day appeal to the intellect, the mix of statistician and poet in all of us baseball lovers, the postseason is all about adrenaline and emotion, the heart and gut. Opening Day invokes a sense of spiritual transcendence; the playoffs appeal to the need for immediate gratification.
The truest joys of Opening Day are for the lifelong baseball lover; the playoffs can convert the baseball nonbeliever. It happened to my wife, who lived her whole life indifferent to sports, until the Red Sox were beaten in seven painful games by the Yankees in 2003's American League Championship Series. We were living in Boston then, and if she was a postseason proselyte three years ago, she now studies Opening Day rosters and can discuss Sox stats like the best of 'em.
I'll admit to being a fair-weather Sox fan myself--how can a resident of Red Sox Nation not be?--but when push comes to shove my heart will always be in Flushing, at the Mets' Shea Stadium. Opening Day 2007 may be all my wife has to look forward to baseball-wise, but for me, it's only today that counts, and that will be true until the Mets are either eliminated--heaven forbid--or earn their World Series rings. Their '86 championship was the transformative sports moment of my youth, and I can think of nothing better than an '06 repeat.
On Opening Day, I was all about love of the game and the universal hope of Spring. But that was a long time ago. It's time for the playoffs. Bring it on.
Apparently Scientology has just zoomed by Kabbalah in the race to be crowned most scandalously hip belief. Sure, there was the Tom Cruise show of last year, but that was only leading up to the coronation. Having a Scientology storyline included in television's most scandalous show, "Nip/Tuck"--now that's a crowning achievement.
Centering on the Miami plastic surgery office of Drs. Sean McNamara and Christian Troy, "Nip/Tuck" is the kind of show where a story arch about Sean and Christian just doing a simple nose job would be shocking, simply shocking, to the show's viewers, who expect the salacious and scandalous, which are the norm for this FX network hit: Serial killers with no penises, mother-daughter threesomes, face cream made out of sperm, human organ trafficking, and lots and lots of nudity.
The Scientology subplot is sandwiched in and given much less airtime than the others. (Is Christian really gay and in love with Sean? And, if so why is he having sex with his married boss who's being blackmailed?) But it is just as tasty.
This season, Kimber--Christian's ex-fiance and and an ex-porn star--has discovered Scientology and is bringing Matt McNamara into the fold. Matt is Sean's adopted son, but his biological father is actually Christian Troy.
While we've been getting hints and glimmers of the Scientology storyline, last night's episode was a reward for those patiently waiting for something to develop. It was sprinkled with Scientology speak--Kimber mentions Thetans at one point, and the episode also references the "Detox," a combination of large doses of vitamins and sauna done to rid bodies of toxins and other chemicals, such as the anti-depressants Matt was on last season.
Even though Matt's grades are up since joining the Church of Scientology, Sean and Julia (his mother) and Christian, are deeply worried. And superficial Christian doesn't fail to come through by saying: "It's humiliating for him, for us." Of course, he may simply be reacting to the fact that Matt has already told Christian that he must cut him out of his life, since Christian is a "Suppressive Person"--according to Scientology, a person who impedes the progress of a practitioner.
Sean and Christian try to bribe Matt into returning to the family fold with a shiny black Porsche. And while he has dreams of the very sexy Kimber, whom he has a crush on, being impressed with the car, she instead chastizes him, saying that his choice of materialism means he's not ready for real spiritual growth.
Kimber and Matt head back to his parents with another member of the Church to remove Matt's belongings and move him to a center. Christian and Sean stage an intervention/abduction, but it goes awry.
Of course, this whole subplot couldn't have been done without the help of Cruise. Prior to Cruise's bizarre antics, writers of all ilks stayed away from the topic, due to the Church of Scientology's legendary litigiousness. But Tom's "The Today Show" interview and the subsequent back-and-forth with Brooke Shields over post-partum depression opened the religion up to criticism and "Nip/Tuck" creator Ryan Murphy and his team ran with it.
What they've come up with is riveting stuff--and realistic, at least for a show that could usually be described as plastic.
Anyone who has tried Anusara yoga has most likely experienced the "what-the-heck-is-going-on moment"--a state of confusion and panic, which occurs when the instructor and students sing an unpronounceable Sanskrit chant in the beginning (and end) of class. (Anusara yogis refer to said chant as "the invocation.") But thanks to a combined effort by some top dogs in the Anusara community, a recently released CD, appropriately titled "Invocation," features the chant in its eight tracks, hoping to transform even the least adept at grasping the foreign tongue into masters of exotic poetic elocution. Well, at least you'll learn the chant.
"Invocation" is a serious lovechild. A certified Anusara teacher, Amy Ippoliti, decided to make the CD after singing many times into her students' tape recorders when they had a hard time remembering the chant. Her Sanskrit teacher, Manorama, is featured on the CD. Ippoliti is married to Ty Burhoe, a disciple of tabla master Ustad Zakir Hussain. Burhoe has recorded and played live shows with "celebrity" Sanskrit chanter Krishna Das, who in 1998 composed the melody for "the invocation" along with Anusara's founder, John Friend.
Friend found that when chanting these words he felt he "was offering loving devotion to the supreme goodness" that was his essence. He believes the combination of words hold great mystical power. None of the players are Indian.
The words in the chant are the only lyrics on the CD:
Om Namah Shivaya Gurave Saccidananda Murtaye Nishprapancaya Shantaya Niralambaya Tejase
This translates to:
I bow to the goodness within myself, known as the Lord Shiva, who is the true teacher. This essence inside takes the form of truth, consciousness and bliss. Always present and full of peace, this essence inside is completely free, and sparkles with a divine luster.
Although the words are limited, the songs each have a meditative sound of their own. Classical instruments like cello and piano are featured on some tracks, whereas the more traditional Indian tabla, tambura, and sarangi are featured on others. Manorama's rich, deep voice on "Shri" and "Angel's Prayer" is a perfect match for Das' bombastic, echo-y sound on "Invocation," "Longing," and "Mala." The only track that felt odd was "Presence." Ippoliti's sweet, light voice is ruined by a breathy chorus of Sanskrit whispers. (Hello, sensual yoga hotline!)
The last track, "Kula" (which translates to "community of the heart"), holds special meaning for those who made it past their first Anusara class and eventually into Friend's classroom. It features Friend himself, along with a class of his students, intoning "the invocation" as a group.
If the appeal seems insular, that's because it is. But those who don't get excited by listening to Anusara glitterati may wish to listen to the CD for pure relaxation. Hey, you may just learn a new chant. Then, of course, go try an Anusara class and be the first one to not be confused.
posted by Alana B. Elias Kornfeld @ 11:48 AM | Permalink |
Well, if you live in fictional Dillon, Texas, where almost everyone worships God and football--not always in that order--then the answer is, obviously, yes. NBC celebrates the unique sports culture of small-town America, where sports and faith are often seen hand-in-hand every Friday night, in the new football drama "Friday Night Lights," debuting tonight.
The series is loosely tied to the successful book and movie of the same name, but the characters and setting are completely new. There's a new coach at the helm of the state champion Panther football team, and expectations are high for him as well as for Jason Street, the senior superstar quarterback. In tonight's episode, the Dillon Panthers begin their quest to repeat as state champions but run into some unexpected obstacles.
While the series is not as edgy as either the book or the movie, there is still much to appreciate about this show. This version of "Lights" still attempts to tackle, in its own way, a variety of issues, including race, poverty, and dysfunctional families. The football sequences are still hard-hitting, and Kyle Chandler is perfectly cast as the soft-spoken but fiercely competitive coach.
But if you want to know the biggest reason why I am cheering for the Panthers to have a successful TV season, you'll need to stay tuned for the last 10 minutes of tonight's episode. With a plot twist that I probably should have seen coming but didn't, "Lights" truly demonstrates promise by setting up two very different storylines that will clearly play out over the course of the football season. The final minutes also feature one of the most moving and authentic prayers I've heard on TV in a very long time. It's a perfect illustration of the way real life and spiritual life intersect in strange and difficult ways.
Even if you don't like football, the characters in this drama will feel familiar to anyone who grew up in the heartland of this county. While I don't know if the show can sustain its winning storytelling style as the season goes on, I sure will be rooting for it all the way.
Aaron Sorkin has long been successful in creating compelling and entertaining investigations into the humanity of characters who inhabit noble roles. "A Few Good Men," "The American President," and "The West Wing" all took us to the core of those whose titles we recognize but whose honest quests are new to us. He's long been a student--and revealer--of the human qualities essential to an authentic spiritual awareness. "Studio 60" offers more of the same.
The heroes are human, and humble. Matthew Perry's Matt Albie is a former writer at "Studio 60," a fictional "SNL"-like comedy show, who got fired. Bradley Whitford's Danny Tripp is a recovering cocaine addict who can't get bonded to produce the movie he's been offered, so he and Matt take the reigns of "Studio 60," from which they were fired four years earlier. Amanda Peet's Jordan McDeere is the rookie network president whose very hiring caused the company stock to drop and whose naïve but idealistic ideas may lead to a short tenure. Steven Weber's Jack Randolph is the network chairman charged with the success of not just the show, but the whole network.
Sarah Paulson's Harriet Hayes, one of the actors on the show-within-the-show, speaks for evangelical Christians but is clearly not the cheesy-cleany bore that tends to be the stereotype. She's also going through a breakup with Matt Albie and will now be working for him. Harriet is the first contemporarily saavy Christian character on a network show in a long time, made believable and human through the lame questions people ask about her faith and the fact she's going through a break-up with all the pain that brings to anyone.
By the time we get to Episode 3, which aired last night, redemption has established itself as a main theme of the show. Jordan's job is in jeopardy because a prior drunk-driving arrest and divorce make headlines. Matt bets $10,000 to give an actress confidence after she flat-lined in a focus group. Danny goes to blows with Matt as a means of convincing him that their firing from the show four years earlier won't happen again. Hard-head Jack is the first to congratulate Jordan for her success. The characters often say "don't worry about it," but they step over each other to worry for each other.
And, in her first "sermon," Harriet effectively pleads with Matt (her ex) to cut a funny skit that she questions for moral reasons. "It's a funny joke, but not a good joke," she says of the bit, which mocks a small-town high school. "The average income there is $18,000 a year, roughly what I'll be paid to perform this show tonight. Why are we making fun of them? 'Crazy Christians,' 'Science Schmience,' 'Bush and the Republicans' [skits the show aired that mock conservative and Christian values] are all fair game; it's hypocrisy and power. These guys are just trying to raise their kids."
In last week's episode, we saw Harriet and some of the other actors engage in a pre-show prayer, in which they invoked Jesus and asked for success. This week, we see Matt, Danny, and some others offering hugs and a huddle, which looks a lot like a pre-game prayer but leaves room for it to be, well, just a group hug. For artists, there's nothing quite as redeeming as applause, or a good focus group, or compliments, or just one compliment from someone we trust or love. Sometimes, approbation from just anyone with breath and a pulse will do. This time, though, the show ends with all of the above: applause and laughter, hugs and high fives, and a 109% retention rate.
As in "The West Wing," Sorkin often sends his clearest message through an episode's closing song. In this
case it's "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" which gets right to the core of conditional love that is our media culture. For Matt, Danny, Jordan, and their team, they're all loved and safe... until next week's show.
Neil Labute is not a writer of tragedy in the classic sense, because tragedy requires a genuine hero, and Labute's characters inspire only disdain. But his films and plays are undeniably tragic--"In the Company of Men," "Your Friends and Neighbors," "Bash," and others feature misogynists, rapists, adulterers, and bigots, and most of them don't feel a smidge of guilt about their depraved ways. That's what's tragic about the world of Labute--his characters aren't just without morals; they're without remorse.
With "Wrecks," a play that opened last month in New York City with Ed Harris in the lead--and only--role, Labute has combined classic tragedy with, well, Labutian tragedy. The entire production is set in a funeral parlor, where Edward Carr is mourning the death of his wife, Jo-Jo. She sits behind him in a closed casket; he paces back and forth in front of her, monologuing to the audience about his lost love. As he does, "Wrecks" opens upon several puns: Carr and his wife ran a classic car rental business; though they were involved a major auto wreck one time, Jo-Jo's life is eventualy wrecked by cancer.
And then there's the titular pun. Some reviewers have called "Wrecks" a play with a dramatic twist, but a twist only works if you don't see it coming. Given that (1) the play is called "Wrecks" and (2) we learn soon after the play opens that Carr's wife was 15 years his senior, it's hard to believe Labute hoped to shock us with the real nature of this couple's relationship. (If you're not familiar with "Oedipus Rex" and plan to see "Wrecks" and want to be surprised, stop reading now.) When, after more than an hour of rapturous recollections of his affection for Jo-Jo, Carr reveals at the play's end that Jo-Jo was his mother, it's not a revelation; it's a confirmation of something Labute has been saying for years: In a broken world, true love--the kind that puts another before self--is nearly impossible to imagine.
Labute, a graduate of Brigham Young University, was until recently a professing Mormon. (His play "Bash," which features a series of Mormons doing some very, er, un-Mormon things, led to his disfellowship from the church.) If he's left the faith, he hasn't left behind its commitment to the idea that people are inherently broken.
But "Wrecks" is not just another Labutian expression of human fallenness; it's also a poignant comment about our current religious and political moment in America. Until we "learn" about Carr's willful incestry, he comes off as (1) a hopeless romantic and (2) a typical moralist. He's constantly making observations of the "When I was a kid" and "In my days..." kind. But his moralism is just sentiment for the past and nothing more. He feels as strongly about old-timey mores as he does about old-timey automobiles. And as his incestuous marriage proves, his moralism is not connected to anything substantial--it doesn't instruct Carr's life; it just gives him a way of sentimentalizing the past.
Carr is a metaphor for American moralists today--those who see the 1950s as the pinnacle of Christian living, or the Founding Fathers as trumpeters of the Christian evangel. Too often, such moralists aren't connected to anything substantial; they fancy bygone days, but their rhetorical praise of the past isn't informing their lives in the present. No naming names here, but how many mighty moralists--especially in the religio-politics of our culture war--have we seen fallen? It doesn't take a playwright to see epic tragedies unfolding on small scales all around us.
Donna Freitas has a Ph.D. in spirituality and is the author of "Becoming A Goddess Of Inner Poise: Spirituality for The Bridget Jones in All of Us."
Douglas Howe is an ordained minister, executive coach, author, and retreat leader.
Paul O'Donnell is the former Culture editor at Beliefnet.
Kris Rasmussen, the author of "WonkaMania," has been a contributing editor to the Christian music magazine CCM and a feature writer for Relevant magazine.
Plus, a number of Beliefnet editors will also be posting to Idol Chatter as the mood strikes.
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