Through a Screen Darkly - Film Festivals for Discussion Groups (Organized by Theme)

Note from Jeffrey Overstreet:

The following lists are recommended titles for groups to view and discuss.

They are not intended to represent comprehensive lists of films on their particular themes. Rather, they are films that I personally have found challenging and rewarding, and I have enjoyed discussions about them with other moviegoers.

I’ve compiled these lists with discerning adult viewers in mind. Some films contain elements that could be offensive to some viewers. I encourage you to read about the films ahead of time. Pay attention to what the film is rated, and why, and make sure that those in your discussion group do not go into the film unprepared.

Reviews of these films available at LookingCloser.org, or elsewhere, will help you determine which selections would be best for you and your viewing group. Proceed with caution, and a sense of adventure.

Each film in these lists may reveal multiple themes. They are listed under particular themes here only as suggested areas of focus. You may find other surprising connections and contrasts, and organize lists of your own.

These lists will be expanded and revised periodically at LookingCloser.org/Darkly.

RELATIONSHIPS

Theme: True Love, Marriage, and Infidelity
Films about the bond of marriage, and the temptation to be unfaithful.

For general discussion groups:
The Ice Storm, dir. Ang Lee
The Road Home, Zhang Yimou
Shall We Dance? (1996), dir. Masayuki Suo
Shadowlands, dir. Richard Attenborough
The New World, dir. Terrence Malick

For ambitious discussion groups:
Lantana, dir. Ray Lawrence
Claire’s Knee, dir. Eric Rohmer
In the Mood for Love, Wong Kar-Wai
Hannah and Her Sisters, dir. Woody Allen
Husbands and Wives, dir. Woody Allen
Far From Heaven, dir. Todd Haynes
Days of Heaven, dir. Terrence Malick
Three Colors: White, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
The Secret Lives of Dentists, dir. Alan Rudolph

And, just for the fun of it…
The Princess Bride, dir. Rob Reiner

Theme: Family Life
Films that explore the rewards, and the fragility, of family relationships, and the need for respect and love between parents and children.

For general discussion groups:
Pieces of April, dir. Peter Hedges
In America, dir. Jim Sheridan
The Royal Tenenbaums, dir. Wes Anderson
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, dir. Lasse Haalstrom
Dear Frankie, dir. Shona Auerbach

For ambitious discussion groups:
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Tokyo Story, dir. Yasujiro Ozu
Yi-Yi (A One and a Two), dir. Edward Yang
Secrets and Lies, dir. Mike Leigh

And, just for fun…
The Incredibles, dir. Brad Bird

Theme: Faithful Fathers, Deadbeat Dads
Films that explore the role, responsibility, and influence of a father, and the complications that set in when a father is neglectful or absent.

For general discussion groups:
The Royal Tenenbaums, dir. Wes Anderson
A River Runs Through It, dir. Robert Redford
Don’t Come Knocking, dir. Wim Wenders
In America, dir. Jim Sheridan
Quiz Show, dir. Robert Redford
In the Name of the Father, dir. Jim Sheridan
My Father’s Glory, dir. Yves Robert
Nobody’s Fool, dir. Robert Benton

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Return, dir. Andrey Zvyagintsev
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, dir. Wes Anderson
Paris, Texas, dir. Wim Wenders

And, just for fun…
Finding Nemo, dir. Andrew Stanton

Theme: Motherhood

For general discussion groups:
Dear Frankie, dir. Shona Auerbach
Places in the Heart, dir. Robert Benton
The Joy Luck Club, dir. Wayne Wang
In Her Shoes, dir. Curtis Hanson

For ambitious discussion groups:
Nine Lives, dir. Rodrigo Garcia
Secrets and Lies, dir. Mike Leigh
Thirteen, dir. Catherine Hardwicke

Theme: Falling in Love/Breaking Up
Films that examine the rush of infatuation, falling in love, the qualities of a good relationship, and the hard work of staying together.

For general discussion groups:
A Room with a View, dir. James Ivory
The Road Home, Zhang Yimou
Sense and Sensibility, dir. Ang Lee
The New World, dir. Terrence Malick
Moulin Rouge!, dir. Baz Lurhmann
Chungking Express, dir. Wong Kar-Wai
When Harry Met Sally, dir. Rob Reiner
Autumn Tale, dir. Eric Rohmer

For ambitious discussion groups:
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, dir. Michel Gondry
Before Sunrise, dir. Richard Linklater
Before Sunset, dir. Richard Linklater
Punch-drunk Love, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
All the Real Girls, dir. David Gordon Greene

Theme: Alienation and the Need for Intimacy
Films that consider the plight of lonely, alienated characters, or people who must overcome challenges in order to connect meaningfully with others.

For general discussion groups:
Edward Scissorhands, dir. Tim Burton
The Station Agent, dir. Thomas McCarthy
Italian for Beginners, dir. Lone Scherfig
Limbo, dir. Stephen Frears
The Remains of the Day, dir. James Ivory
Ghost World, dir. Terry Zwigoff
In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

For ambitious discussion groups:
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Code Unknown, dir. Michael Haneke
Taxi Driver, dir. Martin Scorsese
Lost in Translation*, dir. Sophia Coppola
Distant, dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan
Punch-drunk Love, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
Last Life in the Universe, dir. Pen-Ek Ratanaruang
Magnolia*, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

Theme: The Generation Gap
Films about the challenges of relating to other generations and their cultural values.

For general discussion groups:
Thirteen, dir. Catherine Hardwicke
Tokyo Story, dir. Yasujiro Ozu

For ambitious discussion groups:
Café Lumiere, dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien
The Ice Storm, dir. Ang Lee

Theme: A Contrast of Personalities
Films about extremely different individuals who form unlikely relationships and change each others’ lives.

For general discussion groups:
The Fisher King, dir. Terry Gilliam
The Best of Youth, dir. Marco Tullio Giordana
Harold and Maude, dir. Has Ashby
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, dir. John Hughes

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Dreamlife of Angels*, dir. Erick Zonca
Down by Law*, dir. Jim Jarmusch
Man on the Train, dir. Patrice Leconte
Intimate Strangers, dir. Patrice Leconte
Distant, dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan

GOOD AND EVIL

Theme: Redemption
Films about characters who seek to overcome hardship or despair, wrestle with lives of sin, take steps of faith toward deliverance.

For general discussion groups:
The Apostle, dir. Robert Duvall
The Fisher King, dir. Terry Gilliam
About a Boy, dir.
Tsotsi, dir. Gavin Hood

For ambitious discussion groups:
Ikiru, dir. Akira Kurosawa
Ordet, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer
Three Colors: Red, Krzysztof Kieslowski
Stevie, dir. Steve James

And, just for fun…
Groundhog Day, dir. Harold Ramis
Bruce Almighty, dir. Tom Shadyac
O Brother, Where Art Thou?, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen

Theme: Horror and Human Depravity
Thought-provoking horror movies that cause us to reflect on our fears and our capacity for evil.

For general discussion groups:
Downfall, dir. Oliver Hirschbiegel
Schindler’s List, dir. Steven Spielberg
Alien, dir. Ridley Scott
Unforgiven, dir. Clint Eastwood
Mystic River, dir. Clint Eastwood

For ambitious discussion groups:
Safe, dir. Todd Haynes
The Addiction, dir. Abel Ferrara
Time of the Wolf, dir. Michael Haneke
Apocalypse Now, dir. Francis Ford Coppola
Dogville, dir. Lars Von Trier
Full Metal Jacket, dir. Stanley Kubrick
A Scanner Darkly, dir. Richard Linklater
Brother’s Keeper, dir. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky
Being John Malkovich, dir. Spike Jonze

Theme: Perspectives on War
Films that examine the ethical dilemmas we face when we enter into war, and that remind us of the cost of war in both sides of a conflict.

For general discussion groups:
Grave of the Fireflies, dir. Isao Takahata
The Fog of War, dir. Errol Morris
Three Kings, dir. David O. Russell
Empire of the Sun, dir. Steven Spielberg
Dr. Strangelove, dir. Stanley Kubrick
Platoon, dir. Oliver Stone
Paths of Glory, dir. Stanley Kubrick

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Thin Red Line, dir. Terrence Malick
Saving Private Ryan, dir. Steven Spielberg
Ride with the Devil, dir. Ang Lee
The Pianist, dir. Roman Polanski
Full Metal Jacket, dir. Stanley Kubrick

LAW AND ORDER

Theme: Rules and Freedom
Films that explore the tension between restrictions and freedom, responsibility and recklessness, definition and mystery, order and chaos.

For general discussion groups:
Picnic at Hanging Rock, dir. Peter Weir
Dead Poets Society, dir. Peter Weir
Catch Me If You Can, dir. Steven Spielberg
The Shawshank Redemption, dir. Frank Darabont
Cool Hand Luke, dir. Stuart Rosenberg
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, dir. Peter Weir

For ambitious discussion groups:
Au Hasard Balthazar, dir. Robert Bresson
Apocalypse Now, dir. Francis Ford Coppola
The Ice Storm, dir. Ang Lee

Theme: Pressure
Films about characters who must consider what is right and wrong in the midst of the pressures of family, peers, or tradition.

For general discussion groups:
Fiddler on the Roof, dir. Norman Jewison
A Room with a View, dir. James Ivory
Whale Rider, dir. Niki Caro
The Last Days of Disco, dir. Whit Stillman
Metropolitan, dir. Whit Stillman
Mean Girls, dir. Mark Waters
Almost Famous, dir. Cameron Crowe
Lord of the Flies, dir. Peter Brook
Saved!, dir. Brian Dannelly

For ambitious discussion groups:
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Mean Creek, dir. Jacob Aaron Estes
Thirteen, dir. Catherine Hardwicke

COMEDY

Theme: Comedy
Films that make us laugh for all kinds of reasons — some instructive, some satirical, some absurd.

For general discussion groups:
Raising Arizona, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
Modern Times, dir. Charlie Chaplin
The General, dir. Clyde Bruckman and Buster Keaton
Groundhog Day, dir. Harold Ramis
Young Frankenstein, dir. Mel Brooks
Roxanne, dir. Fred Shepisi
O Brother, Where Art Thou?, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
Rushmore, dir. Wes Anderson
Zelig, dir. Woody Allen
The Man Without a Past, dir. Aki Kaurismäki
Saved!, dir. Brian Dannelly
Monty Python and the Holy Grail, dir. Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam
Being There, dir. Hal Ashby
Intolerable Cruelty, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen
Fargo, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen

For ambitious discussion groups:
Dr. Strangelove, dir. Stanley Kubrick
Delicatessen, dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet
One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest, dir. Milos Forman
Harold and Maude, dir. Hal Ashby

FREEDOM

Theme: Bondage and Freedom
Films about individuals looking for hope in the midst of oppression, imprisonment, or slavery.

For general discussion groups:
The Matrix, dir. Andy and Larry Wachowski
Rabbit-Proof Fence, dir. Philip Noyce
The Cradle Will Rock, dir. Tim Robbins
Good Night and Good Luck, dir. George Clooney
The Truman Show, dir. Peter Weir
Born into Brothels, dir. Zana Briski
Glory, dir. Edward Zwick
Amistad, dir. Steven Spielberg
The Prince of Egypt, dir. Jeffrey Katzenberg
Braveheart, dir. Mel Gibson
For ambitious discussion groups:
Brazil, dir. Terry Gilliam
The Flowers of Shanghai, dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien
Natural Born Killers, dir. Oliver Stone
Far from Heaven, dir. Todd Haynes
A Scanner Darkly, dir. Richard Linklater
The Circle, dir. Jafar Panahi
Blade Runner, dir. Ridley Scott
Fight Club, dir. David Fincher
Requiem for a Dream, dir. Darren Aronofsky

CONSCIENCE

Theme: Character and Conviction
Films about characters whose integrity is put to the test, and who try to do the right thing.

For general discussion groups:
Almost Famous, dir. Cameron Crowe
Chariots of Fire, dir. Hugh Hudson
To Kill a Mockingbird, dir. Robert Mulligan
The Insider, dir. Michael Mann
Do the Right Thing, dir. Spike Lee
Holes, dir. Andrew Davis
Sense and Sensibility, dir. Ang Lee
Persuasion, dir. Roger Michell
Mansfield Park, dir. Patricia Rozema
Nicholas Nickelby, dir. Douglas McGrath
The Little Princess, dir. Alfonzo Cuarón

For ambitious discussion groups:
Three Kings, dir. David O. Russell
Donnie Darko, dir. Richard Kelley
Dirty Pretty Things, dir. Stephen Frears

Theme: Guilt

Films about sin, shame, and responses to guilt.

For general discussion groups:
Blood Simple, Joel and Ethan Coen
Hamlet (1948), dir. Laurence Olivier; Hamlet (1990), dir. Franco Zeffirelli; William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1996), dir. Kenneth Branagh; or Hamlet (2000), dir. Michael Almereyda
Nixon, dir. Oliver Stone
Insomnia, dir. Christopher Nolan

For ambitious discussion groups:
Wild Strawberries, dir. Ingmar Bergman
Crimes and Misdemeanors, dir. Woody Allen

Theme: Prejudice and Intolerance
Films in which varieties of prejudice put characters to the test.

For general discussion groups:
X-Men, dir. Bryan Singer
X-Men 2: X-Men United, dir. Bryan Singer
The Searchers, dir. John Ford
To Kill a Mockingbird, dir. Robert Mulligan
Malcolm X, dir. Spike Lee
Final Solution, dir. Cristobal Krusen
Rabbit-Proof Fence, dir. Philip Noyce
Snow Falling on Cedars, dir. Scott Hicks

For ambitious discussion groups:
Far from Heaven, dir. Todd Haynes
Crash, dir. Paul Haggis
Brokeback Mountain, dir. Ang Lee
The Human Stain, dir. Robert Benton

Theme: Forgiveness and Reconciliation
Films about division, hope, and healing.

For general discussion groups:
Pieces of April, dir. Peter Hedges
The Royal Tenenbaums, dir. Wes Anderson
The Straight Story, dir. David Lynch
Howard’s End, dir. James Ivory
Final Solution, Cristobal Krusen
Woman, Thou Art Loosed!, Michael Schultz

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Son, dir. Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne
Stevie, dir. Steve James

Theme: Conscience and Action
Films about poverty and need, and those who rise to answer the call of compassion.

For general discussion groups:
Dead Man Walking, dir. Tim Robbins
The Widow of St. Pierre, dir. Patrice Leconte
Millions, dir. Danny Boyle
The Constant Gardener, dir. Fernando Meirelles
Born into Brothels, dir. Zana Briski
Hotel Rwanda, dir. Terry George
The Year of Living Dangerously, dir. Peter Weir

For ambitious discussion groups:
Stevie, dir. Steve James
Dirty Pretty Things, dir. Stephen Frears
Three Kings, dir. David O. Russell
Schindler’s List, dir. Steven Spielberg
Taxi Driver, dir. Martin Scorsese

Theme: Justice, Retaliation, and Revenge
Films about wrongdoing, retaliation, and the ethics of violence.

For general discussion groups:
Unforgiven, dir. Clint Eastwood
Rob Roy, dir. Michael Caton-Jones
Mean Creek, dir. Jacob Aaron Estes
In the Bedroom, dir. Todd Field
High Noon, dir. Fred Zinnemann
Hero, dir. Zhang Yimou
The Searchers, dir. John Ford
Hamlet (1948), dir. Laurence Olivier; Hamlet (1990), dir. Franco Zeffirelli; William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1996), dir. Kenneth Branagh; or Hamlet (2000), dir. Michael Almereyda
The Widow of St. Pierre, dir. Patrice Leconte
Death and the Maiden, dir. Roman Polanski

For ambitious discussion groups:
Three Colors: White, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
The Son, dir. Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne
Dogville, dir. Lars Von Trier

Theme: Finding and Telling the Truth
Films about lies and truth-telling.

For general discussion groups:
All the President’s Men, dir. Alan J. Pakula
The Usual Suspects, dir. Bryan Singer
The Insider, dir. Michael Mann
To Kill a Mockingbird, dir. Robert Mulligan
Shattered Glass, dir. Billy Ray
Good Night and Good Luck, dir. George Clooney
The Talented Mr. Ripley, dir. Anthony Minghella
Insomnia, dir. Christopher Nolan
Sophie Scholl: The Final Days, dir. Marc Rothemund
The Exorcism of Emily Rose, dir. Scott Derrickson
A Man for All Seasons, dir. Fred Zinnemann
Erin Brockovich, dir. Steven Soderbergh
Super Size Me, dir. Morgan Spurlock
Brother’s Keeper, dir. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky
The Thin Blue Line, dir. Errol Morris
Death and the Maiden, dir. Roman Polanksi
Twelve Angry Men, dir. Sydney Lumet

For ambitious discussion groups:
Rashomon, dir. Akira Kurosawa
The Celebration, dir. Thomas Vinterberg
Chinatown, dir. Roman Polanski

FAITH

Theme: Faith in a Faithless World
Films that explore the challenges of the Christian life.

For general discussion groups:
The Apostle, dir. Robert Duvall
Tender Mercies, dir. Bruce Beresford
The Big Kahuna, dir. John Swanbeck
The Prince of Egypt, dir. Jeffrey Katzenberg
Dead Man Walking, dir. Tim Robbins
Saved!, dir. Brian Dannelly
Signs, M. Night Shyamalan
The Mission, Roland Joffé
Chariots of Fire, dir. Hugh Hudson
Italian for Beginners, dir. Lone Scherfig
Million Dollar Baby, dir. Clint Eastwood
Leap of Faith, dir. Richard Pearce
Shadowlands, dir. Richard Attenborough
Jesus of Montreal, dir. Denys Arcand

For ambitious discussion groups:
Day of Wrath, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Magnolia*, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
Winter Light, dir. Ingmar Bergman
Cries and Whispers, dir. Ingmar Bergman
Diary of a Country Priest, Robert Bresson

Theme: Innocents, Fools, Redeemers
Films about innocents, redeemers, and Christ-figures who expose the sins of those around them.

For general discussion groups:
Man Facing Southeast, dir. Eliseo Subiela
Edward Scissorhands, dir. Tim Burton
E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, dir. Steven Spielberg
The Passion of the Christ, dir. Mel Gibson
The Gospel of John, dir. Philip Saville
Fearless, dir. Peter Weir

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Passion of Joan of Arc, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer
Ordet, dir. Carl Theodor Dreyer
Jesus of Montreal, dir. Denys Arcand
Au Hasard Balthazar, dir. Robert Bresson
The Life of Bryan, dir. Terry Jones

Theme: The Meaning of Life
Films that challenge us to consider how we should live in the world, and whether there is meaning and design in the world around us.

For general discussion groups:
The Fisher King, dir. Terry Gilliam
Gosford Park, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
Thirteen Conversations About One Thing, dir. Jill Sprecher
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, dir. Tom Stoppard
Hamlet (1948), dir. Laurence Olivier; Hamlet (1990), dir. Franco Zeffirelli; William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1996), dir. Kenneth Branagh; or Hamlet (2000), dir. Michael Almereyda
Ikiru, dir. Akira Kurosawa
The New World, dir. Terrence Malick
In America, dir. Jim Sheridan
The Up Series, dir. Michael Apted (28 Up, 35 Up, etc.)

For ambitious discussion groups:
2001: A Space Odyssey, dir. Stanley Kubrick
Au Hasard Balthazar, dir. Robert Bresson
Wings of Desire, dir. Wim Wenders
Yi-Yi (A One and a Two), dir. Edward Yang
Magnolia*, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
Mindwalk, dir. Bernt Amadeus Capra
Three Colors: Blue, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
Three Colors: Red, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski

MISCELLANEOUS

Theme: What is Human?
Films about what it is that makes human beings distinct from animals and machines.

For general discussion groups:
Fast, Cheap and Out of Control, dir. Errol Morris
A.I. (Artificial Intelligence), dir. Steven Spielberg
Gattaca, dir. Andrew Niccol

For ambitious discussion groups:
Wings of Desire, dir. Wim Wenders
Blade Runner, dir. Ridley Scott
2001: A Space Odyssey, dir. Stanley Kubrick

Theme: Death and Mourning
Films about death, dying, and mourning.

For general discussion groups:
Last Orders, dir. Fred Shepisi
Ponette, Jacques Doillon
Wit, dir. Mike Nichols
Into the West, dir. Mike Newell

For ambitious discussion groups:
Three Colors: Blue, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
Tony Takitani, dir. Jun Ichikawa
Cries and Whispers, dir. Ingmar Bergman
The Sweet Hereafter, dir. Atom Egoyan
Love and Death, dir. Woody Allen

Theme: Short Stories about Sin, Consequences, and Wisdom
Films that examine multiple storylines about choices and consequences.

For general discussion groups:
Thirteen Conversations About One Thing, dir. Jill Sprecher
Personal Velocity, dir. Rebecca Miller
Gosford Park, dir. Robert Altman
Nine Lives, dir. Rodrigo Garcia

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Decalogue, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
Magnolia*, dir. Paul Thomas Anderson
Short Cuts, dir. Robert Altman

Theme: Fear
Films about the things that scare us and how we respond to them.

For general discussion groups:
Limbo, dir. John Sayles
The Sixth Sense, dir. M. Night Shyamalan
The Village, dir. M. Night Shyamalan
Unbreakable, dir. M. Night Shyamalan
Signs, dir. M. Night Shyamalan

For ambitious discussion groups:
Safe, dir. Todd Haynes
Dr. Strangelove, dir. Stanley Kubrick
Time of the Wolf, dir. Michael Haneke
Cache, dir. Michael Haneke

Theme: Survival
Films that examine the hardship of living at the mercy of the elements, or of getting through a dark time when civilization is threatened.

For general discussion groups:
Cast Away, dir. Robert Zemeckis
Wit, dir. Mike Nichols
Signs, dir. M. Night Shyamalan
Watership Down, dir. Martin Rosen
Empire of the Sun, dir. Steven Spielberg
War of the Worlds, dir. Steven Spielberg
Lord of the Flies, dir. Peter Brook

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Pianist, dir. Roman Polanski
Time of the Wolf, dir. Michael Haneke

WORLDVIEW

Theme: When Worldviews Conflict and Contrast
Films about differing worldviews, and what happens when they clash.

For general discussion groups:
The Mission, Roland Joffé
The Unbelievable Truth, dir. Hal Hartley
Witness, dir. Peter Weir
Saved!, dir. Brian Dannelly
The Mosquito Coast, dir. Peter Weir
Fearless, dir. Peter Weir
Man on the Train, dir. Patrice Leconte
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, dir. Peter Weir
The Widow of St. Pierre, dir. Patrice Leconte

For ambitious discussion groups:
Ordet, dir. Carl Dreyer
Waking Life, Richard Linklater
Three Colors: Red, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowksi
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Safe, dir. Todd Haynes
I Heart Huckabees, dir. David O. Russell

IMAGINATION

Theme: Art, Artists, and Creativity
Films that examine the challenges that artists face, the role of art in society, and the temptations that come with creative genius.

For general discussion groups:
Pollock, dir. Ed Harris
Amadeus, dir. Milos Forman
Sweet and Lowdown, dir. Woody Allen
No Direction Home: Bob Dylan, dir. Martin Scorsese
The Cradle Will Rock, dir. Tim Robbins
Girl with the Pearl Earring, dir. Peter Webber
Rivers and Tides: Any Goldsworthy Working with Time, dir. Thomas Riedelsheimer

For ambitious discussion groups:
The Five Obstructions, dir. Lars Von Trier
Andrei Rublev, dir. Andrei Tarkovsky

Theme: Talent and Genius
Films about people who use their gifts in many and varied ways, with differing motives and results.

For general discussion groups:
Amadeus, dir. Milos Forman
Citizen Kane, dir. Orson Welles
Vincent and Theo, dir. Robert Altman
No Direction Home: Bob Dylan, dir. Martin Scorsese
Good Will Hunting, dir. Gus Van Sant
Searching for Bobby Fischer, dir. Steve Zallian
Big Night, dir. Campbell Scott and Stanley Tucci
The Aviator, dir. Martin Scorsese
Quiz Show, dir. Robert Redford
Capote, dir. Bennett Miller

For ambitious discussion groups:
Barton Fink, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen

And, just for fun…
The Hudsucker Proxy, dir. Joel and Ethan Coen

Themes: Imagination and Faith
Films about living imaginatively and with faith in a world that is driven by rationality and doubt.

For general discussion groups:
The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, dir. Terry Gilliam
Finding Neverland, dir. Marc Forster
Amelie, dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet
American Splendor, dir. Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini
Big Fish, dir. Tim Burton
The Secret of Roan Inish, dir. John Sayles

For ambitious discussion groups:
Brazil, Terry Gilliam

WONDER

Theme: Drawn Toward Mystery
Films about characters who answer a mysterious call, or who step forward in wonder and faith where others draw back in fear and skepticism.

For general discussion groups:
Picnic at Hanging Rock, dir. Peter Weir
Fearless, dir. Peter Weir
The Secret of Roan Inish, dir. John Sayles
Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Steven Spielberg
Into the West, dir. Mike Newell

For ambitious discussion groups:
Grizzly Man*, dir. Werner Herzog
The Double Life of Veronique, dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski
Wings of Desire, dir. Wings of Desire
Solaris, dir. Andrei Tarkovsky
The Mirror, dir. Andrei Tarkovsky

PERSPECTIVES

Theme: It’s Tough Being a Kid
Films that consider the world through the eyes of children and teenagers, revealing the pressures, fears, and questions they experience.

For general discussion groups:
In America, dir. Jim Sheridan
Ponette, dir. Jacques Doillon
My Neighbor Totoro, dir. Hayao Miyazaki
E.T. – The Extra-Terrestrial, dir. Steven Spielberg
Empire of the Sun, dir. Steven Spielberg
Into the West, dir. Mike Newell
Children of Heaven, dir. Majid Majidi
The Color of Paraidse, dir. Majid Majidi
My Life as a Dog, dir. Lasse Haalstrom
Stand by Me, dir. Rob Reiner

For ambitious discussion groups:
Mean Creek, dir. Jacob Aaron Estes
Crazy/Beautiful, dir. John Stockwell
George Washington, David Gordon Green
The Butcher Boy, dir. Neil Jordan
Thirteen, dir. Catherine Hardwicke
The 400 Blows, dir. François Truffaut

Theme: Aging
Films about growing old.

For general discussion groups:
The Up Series, dir. Michael Apted (28 Up, 35 Up, 42 Up, etc.)
Nobody’s Fool, dir. Robert Benton
Fried Green Tomatoes, dir. Jon Avnet
Iris, dir. Richard Eyre
Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, dir. James Ivory
Mrs. Brown, John Madden
Shadowlands, dir. Richard Attenborough
The Straight Story, dir. David Lynch

For ambitious discussion groups:
Ikiru, dir. Akira Kurosawa
Tokyo Story, dir. Yasujiro Ozu
The Seventh Seal, Ingmar Bergman
Wild Strawberries, Ingmar Bergman

Theme: Culture Clash
Films about people of different cultures colliding, interacting, coping with, and learning from each other.

For general discussion groups:
Witness, dir. Peter Weir
Crash, dir. Paul Haggis
House of Sand and Fog, dir. Vadim Perelman
Dances with Wolves, dir. Kevin Costner
Whale Rider, Niki Caro
Empire of the Sun, dir. Steven Spielberg
The Gods Must Be Crazy, dir.
Do the Right Thing, dir. Spike Lee
Bend It Like Beckham, dir.

For ambitious discussion groups:
Time of the Wolf, dir. Michael Haneke
Code Unknown, dir. Michael Haneke
The World, dir. ZhangKe Jia
Distant, dir. Nuri Ceylan Blige
Junebug, dir. Phil Morrison
Three Kings, dir. David O. Russell
The Ballad of Jack and Rose, dir. Rebecca Miller

Theme: Films to Inspire and Challenge Children
Films for adults to watch with children and discuss afterward.

For five-year-olds and up:
My Neighbor Totoro, dir. Hayao Miyazaki
The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, dir. John Lounsbery and Wolfgang Reitherman
Toy Story, dir. John Lasseter
Lilo and Stitch, dir. Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders
The Wizard of Oz, dir. Victor Fleming, Mervyn LeRoy, Richard Thorpe, and King Vidor

For eight-year-olds and up:
Duma, dir. Carroll Ballard
The Black Stallion, dir. Carroll Ballard
The Little Princess, dir. Alfonzo Cuarón
Finding Nemo, dir. Andrew Stanton
The Secret of Roan Inish, dir. John Sayles
The Emperor’s New Groove, dir. Mark Dindal
Mary Poppins, dir. Robert Stevenson
Babe, dir. George Miller
The Muppet Movie, dir. James Frawley
The Iron Giant, dir. Brad Bird
Kiki’s Delivery Service, dir. Hayao Miyazaki
The Miracle Maker, dir. Derek W. Hayes and Stanislav Sokolov
The Secret Garden, dir. Agnieska Holland
Monsters, Inc., dir. Pete Docter, David Silverman, and Lee Unkrich
Cars, dir. John Lasseter
The Story of the Weeping Camel, dir. Byambasuren Davaa and Luigi Falorni

For ten-year-olds and up:
The Princess Bride, dir. Rob Reiner
Star Wars, dir. George Lucas
Watership Down, dir. Martin Rosen
Into the West, dir. Mike Newell
Spirited Away, dir. Hayao Miyazaki
Holes, dir. Andrew Davis
March of the Penguins, dir. Luc Jacquet
Microcosmos, dir. Claude Nuridsany and Marie Pérennou
To Kill a Mockingbird, dir. Robert Mulligan


Through a Screen Darkly - Questions for Film Discussion Groups

Consider these to be prompts to get things moving, or suggestions for expanding a conversation into new territory.

This is by no means a comprehensive list of post-viewing questions. They represent avenues of conversation that I have found rewarding and even surprising when audiences have been willing to stay for a while, share their experiences, and gain from hearing the perspectives of others.

Purpose:

  • What purpose was the film intended to serve? Do you feel that it fulfilled its purpose?
  • Does it entertain? Does it deliver what a general audience would expect of this sort of film, or does it challenge them with something unexpected? Does it accomplish more than mere entertainment?
  • Did it seem focused on delivering a particular message or lesson?
  • Did it seem designed to persuade audiences on certain issues, or was it open to interpretation?

Themes:

  • What was the film about?
  • How is the film about that? Where do we first sense that theme developing? What methods are employed to emphasize this theme? What lines seem most important? What images? Does anything in the film stand out as a metaphor related to the theme?
  • Do you find that the film offers anything on these themes that you personally have not considered before? Does the film resonate with you as true, or as misleading? Does it convey anything that might influence the way you think about its subject?

Quality:

  • Consider the technical excellence of the film in aspects such as these:
      • Screenplay
      • Acting
      • Editing
      • Cinematography
      • Direction
      • Production value
      • Soundtrack

    Effects

What aspects of this production were its strengths? Weaknesses?

The Film's World:

  • Does this film take place in a world you recognize? Or does it ask us to accept a distorted view of reality?(For example: Pirates of the Caribbean and its sequels ask us to accept that this story takes place in the land of make-believe, full of magic, zany humor, and outrageous superhuman stunts. As when we watch Looney Toons, we have to suspend our disbelief and enjoy the adventure the way we enjoyed fairy tales when we were children. While this is "an exaggerated reality," its exaggerations draw our attention to shows of virtue, betrayal, heroism, cowardice, and to the consequences of various choices. This makes the films both entertaining and pleasingly meaningful - for most.)
  • If anything is exaggerated, or if the style suggests a different kind of world - a  nightmare, a dream, a cartoon, a fantasy - what was the purpose of crafting the film in this way? Does it draw our attention to any realities in our own world? Or do you find the distortions unfair and misleading?

Spirituality:

  • Does this film offer any spiritual insights?
  • Is the audience led to assume that the world in the film adheres to any higher laws or moral order? Is there any suggestion of a higher power? What is the film's idea of "right" and "wrong"?
  • What do the characters value? How do they demonstrate this? Where do their values lead them?
  • Do any of the characters exhibit any kind of personal faith? If so, how does that manifest itself in their choices and behavior?
  • What does the film suggest is meaningful in life?
  • What assumptions does it ask us to make about the world?
  • Does the film bring any particular scriptures to mind? Does the film illustrate, or conflict with, what Christ reveals to us?

Story:

  • What were the choices made by the characters, and what were the consequences of those choices?
  • What has changed by the end of the film?
  • What does the film illustrate for us?

Source material:

  • If the film is based on history, is it fairly accurate and trustworthy, or have the filmmakers embellished the truth or ignored important details? Does this matter?
  • If the film is based on a previous film, a play, a novel, or some other work of art, how does it compare to the original? What are the strengths and weaknesses of its interpretation? Does it reflect the themes and perspective of the original work, or does it alter that? Is the artist enhancing and upholding the focus of the original work, or introducing his own views into the work?

Filmmaker:

  • Does the director have a particularly distinct style? Would you recognize his work in other films?
  • What does the director's style reveal about him?
  • Think of a few other directors you're familiar with - how might the film have been different if one of them had directed it?
  • Are there other filmmakers who have explored this film's themes or ideas? Put alongside each other, would the films offer conflicting or complimentary ideas?

Your experience:

  • Did you find the film worthwhile?
  • Did the film surprise you with anything unusual in its story, style, technique, or implications?
  • How did it make you feel?
  • What does it make you think about?
  • What will you most remember?
  • Does anything in the film make you think of your own experiences? Did anything resonate with you or remind you of some detail in your own history?
  • Did anything particularly bother you about the film? Do you object to any of the artists' choices? (This is a different question from "Did anything in the film trouble you?" I am deeply troubled by the violence of the Nazis in Saving Private Ryan, but I have no complaint against the filmmakers.)
  • Do you have any questions for other viewers about their experience?
  • If you could ask the filmmakers a question about the work, what would you ask them?
    Has the film influenced your understanding or caused you to think about anything in a new way?
    Would you want to see it again? If so, why? If not, why not?
    Would you be interested in seeing more work by this director, this screenwriter, or these actors? If so, why? If not, why not?

Further exploration:

  • If you were to watch it again, what might you concentrate on the second time through? How might the experience be different on a second viewing, now you know the entirety of the work? Do you suspect a second viewing would be worthwhile?
  • What other works of art might be worth considering in relationship with this film? What books, music, poetry, visual art, or other films explore the same theme?

Considering the audience:

  • What kind of audience would you say is appropriate for this film? Is it appropriate for teenagers? Young children? Should children be allowed to watch the film without an adult present? How might parents discuss this film with their children in order to make it more rewarding for them?
  • How might a Christian's response to this film differ from an unbeliever's?
  • How might an American respond to it differently than a viewer in another culture?
  • How might women, men, young people, and older people see the film differently?
  • How might this film affect viewers as they return to their everyday activity? Will it inspire more hope and faith, or more despair? Will it encourage viewers to have courage, or will it enflame their fears? Will it inspire responsibility or recklessness?

Through a Screen Darkly - Recommended Reading on Faith and Art

  • Thomas Merton, Raids on the Unspeakable.(New Directions books.)
    In the sixties, Father Thomas Merton challenged artists to break loose from cultural and religious agendas that hindered them from creating freely and with excellence. He alerts us to the dangerous lies that lure artists to pride, to hollow success, and to what we now commonly call "selling out."
  • Gregory Wolfe, Intruding Upon the Timeless
  • Jeremy Begbie, Voicing Creation's Praise: Towards a Theology of the Arts (Harper Collins, 1991)
    A critique of Protestant involvement and perspective on the arts.
  • Frank Ely Gabelein, The Christian, The Arts, and the Truth: Regaining the Vision of Greatness (A Critical Concern Book, edited by Dr. Bruce Lockerbie, Multnomah Press, 1985).
    Gabelein takes a scholarly, organized approach to the subject, examining Scripture's perspectives on the arts, and challenges readers to a higher aesthetic standard, contemplating literature, music, education, the Christian use of leisure, and the social responsibilities of "Christian humanists".
  • Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water: Reflection on Faith and Art (NorthPoint Press, 1980), Penguins and Golden Calves.
    Two must-reads-the first, a journal-like contemplation on L'Engle's personal experiences as a maturing artist and Christian, full of insight on the relationship between childlike faith and artistry; the second, an examination of the value of icons and the danger of idols, and how modern Christianity seems to forget the power of icons out of the fear of idolatry.
  • Dr. Bruce Lockerbie, The Timeless Moment (currently out of print).
    One of the best overviews and most challenging contemplations on Christianity and the arts ever written.
  • H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ and Culture.
    An examination of various Christian approaches of how to be "in" the world, but not "of" it.
  • Chaim Potok, My Name is Asher Lev, The Gift of Asher Lev.
    Two classic novels about a young artist who seeks to pursue his art in good conscience, in spite of opposition from family and community. A must for any "persecuted" artist.
  • Hans Rookmaaker, Art Needs No Justification (IVP, 1978).
    A Biblical defense for artists.
  • Leland Ryken, The Liberated Imagination: Thinking Christianly About the Arts (Harold Shaw, 1986).
    An overview of major issues confronting the Christian mind regarding artistic pursuits.
  • Dorothy L. Sayers, The Mind of the Maker (Harper San Francisco, 1987 reprint).
    A masterpiece on the subject of creativity in service of the Creator.
  • Frances Schaeffer, Addicted to Mediocrity: 20th Century Christians and the Arts (Good News Publishers, 1981).
    Schaeffer takes a look at the lamentable state of the arts in the Christian realm, criticizes the lukewarmness of the common fare, and philosophizes about how we got to here from there.
  • Phillip Yancey ed., Reality and the Vision.
    Wonderful. Challenging examinations of great writers by the Christian writers who were inspired by them. (Featuring Stephen Lawhead, Phillip Yancey, Madeleine L'Engle, and many others, considering writers from Tolkien to Flannery O'Connor.)

Further Reading on Christian Perspectives

  • The Christian Classics Ethereal Library at Wheaton College - A superb online Christian literature resource.
  • G.K. Chesterton
    Orthodoxy
  • Thomas Howard
    Chance or the Dance?
  • Madeleine L'Engle
    The Rock that is Higher
  • Anne Lamott
    Bird by Bird
    Traveling Mercies
  • C.S. Lewis
    C.S. Lewis Foundation
    On Stories

Through a Screen Darkly - Bonus Chapter - Beyond the Comics

[Including a consideration of Au Hasard Balthazar]

I'm No Superman

When I was, oh, seven or eight years old, my parents bought me The Comic-Strip Bible for Christmas.

My interest in the Bible jumped about 85%. I think I read the whole thing through twice before New Year's Day. And some of those images are still vivid in my mind . . . especially that full-page illustration of Moses dramatically raising the Ten Commandments, ready to smash them to pieces.

Comic books can bring a text to vivid life for young imaginations. And that particular Bible "translation" played a big part in embedding Bible stories in my mind. Similarly, "Christian comic books" like adaptations of Through Gates of Splendor and Hello, I'm Johnny Cash captivated my attention with vivid drawings that told the story of a brave, selfless missionary, and a celebrity who found consolation in Christ after the foolishness of vanity.

The Comic-Strip Bible focused primarily on the adventure stories of the Bible. It kept to the list of favorite stories. I don't remember any comic-book lineage lists, nor do I remember the Psalms, Proverbs, or Song of Solomon receiving any illustrated treatment. The artists knew their audience, and wanted to give youngsters like me just enough to spark our curiosity in the basic moral lessons and spiritual revelations of the Bible.

But if you ask young Christians today if comic books are meaningful, you won't be likely to find many who talk about "Christian comic books." Instead, you'll find a lot of chatter about how Superman is a "Christ figure." And when Spider-man 2 was released, Christian film critics, myself included, were talking about a particular scene that reminded us of Jesus's courage... in fact, it even echoed iconographic depictions of our savior being brought down from the cross.

There are whole books published on finding the gospel in comic books, and in Star Wars, and other popular popcorn franchises. Watchful moviegoers are finding a wealth of resonant scenes that can be used as handy sermon illustrations. And I say, more power to them! It's great that young people are being introduced to the idea that even our simplest, most elementary form of storytelling cannot help but remind us of the Gospel.

But how many of these Christian pop-culture adventurers are interested in growing past that, and intensifying their discernment? Are we going to stick to pointing out obvious Christ figures, exploiting every Spandex-clad hero for our own evangelical advantage? There comes a point, I'm certain, where I should stop turning cartwheels whenever I see someone in a red cape carry the weight of the world quite literally on his shoulders.

I want to venture higher, deeper into territory where challenging and affecting revelations of Christ can happen. Is that possible? That depends.

It depends on how closely we're looking at art. And it depends on how well we know this Jesus who we claim is revealed there. And I'll be frank with you -- I'm finding that a lot of those believers most passionate about finding Jesus in popular culture don't know much about their subject. In fact, they know little more about their savior than I can learn about you from your MySpace profile.

With that level of understanding, the rewards of meditating on art and entertainment will be meager indeed. I don't want to stay in the "first grade" of art interpretation. I want to go deeper than "Superman = Jesus." There's so much more we can glean from the big screen than simple parables about good guys overcoming bad guys.

Breakdown at the Jesus Film Seminar

Fifteen years ago, I was invited by a fellow student involved in campus ministries to address an assembly on the subject of portrayals of Christ in film. I had contributed a couple of film reviews to the student paper - reviews so shoddy and pretentious that I would never show them to anyone now - and these somehow qualified me as having something to say on the subject.

I knew right away that this would be a challenge. After all, there are few direct cinematic depictions of Christ worth sharing with an audience. Many have been little more than big-screen versions of my old Sunday school teachers' flannel-graph storytelling - simplistic, innocuous, and unconvincing, lacking any kind of artistic vision or anything that would challenge us to think.

I knew that a presentation including a series of familiar, traditional, "safe" pictures of Jesus - the films that tell us what any Sunday school students already know - would bore the audience within five minutes. If this was to encourage attendees to think about Jesus through his appearances on film, the presentation would have to rattle them. In other words, it would have to suggest the kind of scandalous, astonishing influence that the flesh-and-blood Jesus really possessed.

And these were university students, so surely they were ready to think things through.

So I decided to broaden the definition of the assignment. I would show a traditional portrayal of Jesus, and then I would show scenes from other films that directed us to think about the person of Christ through daring and controversial interpretations of the gospel. I would invite the viewers to address the differences in the way Jesus is portrayed. I'd ask them what each scene revealed to them about the artist's perception of Christ. And together we would compare these interpretations to the Gospel accounts, to get a stronger grasp on what we really believe about this man. This would stir the pot and bring interesting things to the surface for discussion.

Instead of learning more about Jesus, though, I'm not sure we learned anything at all, except how unprepared we were to talk about him.

*          *          *

On the day of the event, I stood in front of a packed lecture hall, pushing tapes into a VCR.

By way of introduction, I talked about how traditional European portraits of Christ are probably quite misleading - the Jesus onscreen usually looks like a European man with pale skin, blue eyes, and handsome features, dissonant with the scriptures that suggest our savior was less than handsome. "Our society's portrayals of Christ have molded him into a shape we're comfortable with," I remarked, "rather than illustrating the dusty, rugged reality of the man." I went on to explain that Jesus's physical appearance was just one of many ways in which artists reveal their attitudes and ideas about him.

"Please watch carefully," I said, "and think about the Jesus you have imagined while reading the Bible. Is the Christ portrayed in this movie anything like the Jesus of the Gospels?"

I began with a scene from the Jesus movie that most people have seen, at one time or another, on television - Jesus of Nazareth.

Christ is seated at the table with Pharisees, who are lobbing challenges at him about the law. The prostitute hurries in, interrupts them, and bows down to smear perfume over the Messiah's feet with her hair, softly weeping. The Pharisees are appalled, of course, just as they are in scripture. Christ blesses her, further infuriating those religious know-it-alls.

No problem. This was a fairly straightforward representation of the scripture. Best to start with a safe one, since my upcoming selections were more controversial, and likely to step on a few toes.

The pause button freeze-framed the scene in a jittery tableau. "So," I began, "Jesus of Nazareth by Franco Zefferelli. This is a big-screen Jesus you've probably seen before. But ask yourself, is this Jesus as you imagine him? Is this the Jesus of scripture?"

A long silence ensued. A couple of people cleared their throats.

Of course, I thought, my fellow students would nod and say, "Yes, I remember this chapter from the Gospels." Or perhaps they would say, "Yes, this is what Jesus said, and that's the way he debated the Pharisees... that's the kind of love he showed Mary Magdalene." Perhaps someone would find this blue-eyed Jesus a little too European.

I waited. I began to wonder, had they heard me clearly? I repeated the question, louder. And added, "Do you remember this scene from the Gospels? Is this a reasonable depiction?"

Finally, a young woman raised her hand, shook her head and said, "Jesus didn't look like that."

I nodded, not at all surprised. She was probably expecting a more Middle-Eastern Jesus. "So, you picture a Jesus differently?"

"Yes. He would have been much cleaner. And stronger. This Jesus... his hair is messed up, and he's awfully pale."

"Uh-huh." So, she was not bothered that Jesus was Caucasian. The student was upset that this Jesus didn't look like a movie star.

I could feel the sharp retorts piling up in my head, and I tried to restrain myself. Let's remember, Jesus was always on the move. He would go out into the desert for forty days at a time. Do you think that, perhaps, he might have been a bit rough around the edges?

A lot of evangelical culture in America reinforces the idea of a Jesus who looks like a Chuck-Norris-style action hero with long brown hair and a white bathrobe. I decided not to dwell on this point. I moved on.

"Let's get past Jesus's appearance. What would you say about his behavior in this scene? His quiet conversation with the Pharisees... does he sound like the Jesus you imagine?"

The reply surprised me. A young man shook his head vehemently. "Jesus seems very disagreeable in this scene. He would not have argued with those men."

No one raised their hand to argue with this observation . . . in a packed lecture hall full of Christians.

Most of these students had been raised in Christian homes and gone to church all of their lives. Did they find it impossible to imagine that Jesus would argue with Pharisees?

"Does anyone else here think that Jesus would have avoided a disagreement with the Pharisees?"

A hand went up. I nodded in desperate hope.

"I don't like this portrayal," another woman said assuredly. "When the prostitute kneels in front of him, Jesus is looking at her very lustfully. He would never really do that."

I looked back to the screen. Lust? Where? Christ offers the prostitute a blessing, just as he does in the Bible. But there was nothing in this scene to suggest any kind of attraction going on.

I then looked at the stack of other films I had brought to discuss, and I began to feel a faint panic.

The next selection was Monty Python's The Life of Brian.

*          *          *

Python comedian Eric Idle admitted in the video collection called Life of Python that, while he had a penchant for trouble-making back then, he and his fellow comedians researched Christ's life and realized that it would be wrong to make fun of someone who spoke so much wisdom.

Rather, it was only effective to make fun of those whose behavior was inappropriate. This, of course, shifted the focus of their comedy to the bickering and misguided crowds and their misinterpretations of Jesus's teaching.

Thus, the film is not about Jesus, but about the way that crowds become hysterical, confused, and prone to irrationality. In their zeal to find, embrace, and lift up a hero and a messiah, they are accidentally convinced that an ordinary young man named Brian is the promised deliverer. And they pursue him, welcoming Brian's every cry of dismay as if it is sacred and revelatory. Brian is disgusted by the attention and cannot get the crowds to listen to his clear objections. He's a fool, and his mother is infuriated by him; but his followers ignore these details.

The humor in Life of Brian is typical of the Pythons: clever, absurd, full of wit and wordplay, and occasionally crass.

But for this occasion, I chose a scene that was accessible and inoffensive. At least, I thought it was perfectly safe.

I chose the famous "Beatitudes" scene, in which we briefly glimpse Jesus himself teaching in the distance. The masses have not yet begun to pursue Brian. They stand around arguing about what Jesus's teachings meant. In that memorable moment, as the listeners fall into petty disputes, one of the comical fools in the crowd quips, "What did he say? Blessed are the cheesemakers?"

I let the tape run, as the foolish crowd mistakes Brian for Jesus and begins to pursue him. Brian flees for his life, while the followers snatch up the things he has dropped along the road. They immediately divide into denominations, bickering over which is meant as a sign and a symbol. Should they worship Brian's gourd, or his sandal?

When I asked the students what they thought this film was trying to say to us about Jesus, Christians, and the church, there was a general consensus in the room. "The movie is mocking Jesus!" "It's blasphemous."

I can't remember if I made any effort to clear up the students' interpretations. All I remember is determining to soldier on, as though signing my own death warrant.

I charged on ahead into scenes from Jesus of Montreal and The Last Temptation of Christ.

*     *     *

In Jesus of Montreal, in which a group of actors find themselves inspired, moved, and changed by the characters that they play, I found that the actor playing the man cast as Jesus was "too pale" and "wimpy" for the university students to accept him as a "Christ figure." And when a woman gave him a thank-you kiss on the cheek, a couple of students agreed that "Jesus would never have lusted after a woman."

And The Last Temptation of Christ? Admitting to the students that the film does contain some rather heretical ideas, I told them that I had chosen a scene that did not include any blatant heresy. I chose the scene in which Christ turns over the market tables at the temple and reprimands the moneychangers.

But when the VCR refused to accept my VHS tape of the film, there were sounds of celebration in the audience. Apparently, students were convinced that The Last Temptation of Christ was utterly devoid of value, and that God was intervening, refusing to let this movie be shown on campus.

When the VCR finally got the upper hand in this perceived God-versus-technology battle, I showed the clip, and was resoundingly rebuked for presenting such a "blashphemous" scene.

I was lucky to get out of there alive.

*          *          *

And as I fled the scene, I was distraught. And the experience still haunts me. If we do not learn to know the Christ of the Bible well enough to know how he interacted with people, how will we have a relationship with him? If we cannot watch him in the company of women without perceiving some kind of lust, what does that say about us? And do we really believe in a Jesus who would not debate those who sought to destroy him?

For me, the most frightening passage in the Bible comes when religious men approach God's throne and say, "Look, Lord, at the many things we've done in your name." God replies, "Depart from me, I never knew you."

A new generation of zealous young Christians are rushing about declaring that Jesus is Lord, Jesus is their Homeboy, Jesus is the "true" Lord of the Rings. But ask them to talk about the way that Jesus lived, and watch them fumble for words.

The Gospels are not just a quick reference guide for handy Jesus quotes. We are supposed to know them intimately, meditate upon them, and discover the dusty, humble, not-so-handsome, troublemaking Christ who was so scandalous. We are supposed to do more than read the book, take notes, and use Bible verses cleverly in cultural arguments. We are supposed to "Eat this book "- as Eugene Peterson reminds us in a book of that very title.

By Chance, a Donkey Named Balthazar

It is oh so easy to point to Christ figures at the movies . . . to identify the brave, appealing hero who sacrifices himself to save the world.

We like to admire incredible heroes, and to watch them bravely vanquish the villains. And we can say, "Jesus did the same thing. He triumphed over evil and death."

But some of us become so swept up in the thrill of the glorious victory that we lose track of who Jesus really was, how he really behaved, and what it was like to be around him. He wanted us to learn from his example. And more, he wanted us to know him . . . personally. And that can be humbling and painful. We can get so caught up in the glory of what he did that we excuse ourselves from what he shows us about ourselves.

When we meditate on Christ will be moved by more than his heroism . . . which was, indeed, the greatest ever demonstrated. But we will also see ourselves in the failures of everyone who surrounded Christ. We will see our inability to remain humble and selfless.

We need to to outgrow this simple glamorization of the hero. We need to think about the fact that Christ's sacrifice is best appreciated in contrast to the behavior and character of those he came to save.

The path of following Christ is not so much about our quest to oppose cultural enemies as it is about our call to "put on Christ" and deny our own selfish impulses. That is a story short on superhero glory. It's about our weakness, and what God can do with it.

Films like Sophie Scholl: The Final Days and A Man for All Seasons, in which the Christian heroes serve God through humble service rather than inspiring and militant efforts, are often overlooked. The path of Christ sometimes calls us to become fools, and fools are rarely sexy. Christ-like foolishness can lead us to obscurity, if not invisibility. Thomas Merton has written about how most of Christ's most devoted followers will probably never be recognized on this side of glory. True imitators of Christ tend to become unknowns, avoiding spotlights, working quietly and anonymously, uninterested in recognition. That's not the kind of material that turns into blockbuster movies.

And even those characters who do earn our admiration for their courage should never convince us that good behavior somehow redeems us. No amount of good behavior is enough to open heaven's doors for us. Like Ofelia in Pan's Labyrinth, we've disobeyed, fallen short, messed up, and deserve the consequences. Like Frodo in The Lord of the Rings, even the best of us has failed in our quest. If we really know Christ, we will have a powerful sense of our own sins.

I'm grateful for art that reminds me of this as I fumble my way along.

*          *          *

More than any film about Christ, I find myself humbled, even devastated, by the way that director Robert Bresson's Au Hasard Balthazar draws me to meditate on the savior's suffering.

Be warned: Robert Bresson is not interested in entertaining you. His films boil storytelling down to its barest essence. Things happen without romantic swells of soundtrack, without glamour, without fancy lighting or special effects. We see events happening with the haphazardness of everyday life. And characters interact with so little emotion that it can be quite frustrating.

But Bresson scales back drama intentionally, because he wants us to lean forward and pay close attention to the most ordinary of details.

And in Au Hasard Balthazar, he wants us to notice the donkey . . . an animal who quite naturally just blends into the background.

When Balthazar raises his voice, he is anything but appealing. In fact, he clashes with the music that opens the film so harshly that audiences have been known to burst out laughing.

Balthazar differs from most "holy fools" in that he does not get to speak to us about his understanding or his plight. He is silent for most of the film, quietly doing what is asked of him, receiving affection, suffering abuse, performing hard labor, and living out his life with very little appreciation or reward. But everywhere he goes, his gentle, dutiful demeanor shines like a light that illuminates the natures of all who come near him.

*     *     *

How can a donkey communicate anything about Christ?

He does so by revealing the characters around him. He makes no virtuous choice. He's just an animal. But his innocence seems to bring out the worst in everyone around him. And if we're honest, we can see ourselves there.

I don't mean to say that the donkey is an arbitrary element of the film. We're all familiar with the role of the donkey in the Nativity, bearing the Virgin Mary to Bethlehem. We know that when Christ made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, hailed as a king, surrounded by joyful people who expected that he would overthrow the Roman empire, he chose to ride on a donkey. The donkey is Christ's transportation of choice. The animal patiently plays his part when the savior needs him . . . and then he disappears from view without further mention.

Bresson knew what he was doing in choosing this animal to awaken the viewer's conscience.

But there's more to Bresson's choice of the donkey than just Biblical significance. The donkey has a strange quality that makes us think about humility.

And Bresson emphasizes this by starting the film with graceful, idyllic moments between Balthazar and Marie, the young girl who cares for him.

In one night scene, Marie walks outside and spends some quiet, sacred time with the animal she loves, draping flowers over his head. There is an Edenic quality to this scene, as Bresson emphasizes Marie's pale, bare feet in the grass. Her bare feet emphasize her vulnerability, and the grass makes me think about the snakes that might be lying in wait. This makes Marie's abandonment of Baltahazar that much more painful to behold.

Later, when Balthazar suffers through a time as a circus animal, we see him introduced to the other caged animals. Bresson juxtaposes shots of the other creatures' faces with close-ups of Balthazar, and this mysterious sequence has the strange effect of further strengthening our awareness that Baltahazar is somehow different, somehow lacking in the pride and ferocity of other creatures.

I can't go so far as to say that I believe Balthazar represents Christ to me. He is, after all, a donkey, and not someone making choices between good and evil with a human intelligence. Rather, he is an element of grace that casts into sharp relief all who come near him. He represents the suffering brought about by our sins. He is all that we have hurt, betrayed, abused, exploited, and taken for granted.

We come to see the holiness that we lack by looking at the many and varied ways in which the characters of this story fail Balthazar. In a sense, Balthazar is creation, still glimmering with God's intent for it, suffering at the hands of sinful humans. No, he is not Christ, but he reflects the light of innocence and blamelessness in a way that confirms for us the worst about ourselves.

*          *          *

Marie is the central human being of the film, and she embodies the conflict at the heart of so many films that tell us to "seize the day." Marie is kind, gentle, and beautiful, and when she is around Balthazar these qualities seem to have the upper hand.

But as she grows, her attraction to the rebellious, impulsive spirit of a dangerous young gang leader named Gerard lures her off of the path of wisdom. Gerard is a liar, a cheat, a big bad wolf in a leather jacket. He charms Marie, and she follows her heart. He may as well be Titanic's Jack, luring Rose away from respect for her elders.

In the story of Marie, I hear echoes of the story of Laura Palmer in David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, which illustrated the story of a girl's innocence lost. And the deeper we investigate the mystery of her fall, the more we become aware that there is an evil enslaving the human beings of this small community, luring them into the darkness, tempting them to play with fire.

That same sinister spirit haunts the shadows of Au Hasard Balthazar. (The title translates, "By Chance, Balthazar.") The downward spiral of her journey into darkness is heartbreaking to watch, especially since she seems to accelerate her plunge by her own misguided will. The influence is especially sharp when Marie dances with Gerard at the local bar, caught up in the chaos, losing all control.

As Marie is baited from innocence into sin by a child of the devil, the camera frequently emphasizes the difference between two worlds - that of natural beauty and that of machines and technology - a contrast also prominent in Lynch's work. One world is like a garden, the other is energized by the human will. One seems almost too dreamy to be true, the other excruciatingly familiar and corrupt.

And through it all, Balthazar presses on, silently suffering harsh and punishing masters, perhaps wondering what ever happened to the girl who once crowned him with flowers and loved him.

Balthazar proves to me that there is nothing essentially wrong with being "true to yourself" if you have a proper understanding of your identity. Balthazar is true to the nature he was given - he was made to be a humble and dutiful animal, serving human beings no matter how much disgrace was brought upon him. He's a gift of grace, offered up to men who will very likely sacrifice him. He does not choose this, as Christ chose to offer himself up for our salvation. But he does remind us of the innocence is living within proper boundaries, in lacking devilish pride.

Bresson seizes one opportunity after another to remind us of Christ through Balthazar, even going so far as to surround him with a herd of white sheep in the pasture, their bells ringing while his blood is spilling. There is something transcendent in that scene. And as I think about that little four-legged beast now, I find myself thinking about the miserable and lonely death of Christ. I wonder if I would have followed him so far as that. I'm afraid that I know the answer to that question.

But Marie, when she decides to stray off the path of conscience, loses any proper understanding of herself, and follows her baser appetites, seizing a day rather than an everlasting life.

Seeing More Than a Comic Book Jesus

Watching the work of Robert Bresson is quite a different experience than watching most comic book movies.

Comic books follow the patterns of children's stories and fairy tales, revealing truth in ways I've explored elsewhere in this book. But they are like fast-food meals, crafted to compel and entertain and please us. When we rise to the challenge of work like Bresson's, we open ourselves to a very different sort of revelation. And we only discover those rewards by revisiting the work and meditating on what it shows us about human nature.

Look around at Christian bookstores and on Christian websites, it's easy to find countless articles about how superhero movies like Superman Returns and Spiderman 2 give us Christ-like heroes who suffer a sort of "passion play" in order to save the world with their otherworldly strength. And there are several books available about "finding Jesus in comic books" and "finding Jesus in the Superman movie."

These are not meaningless - comic books and children's stories offer clear, simple reflections of the truth all the time.

But it troubles me to see that most Christian dialogue about finding meaning at the movies actually stops there. We seem happy to embrace comic book Christ figures. They make sweeping, violent gestures to defeat the bad guys and then - snap! - somehow dodge the curse of death. Such stories comfort young believers and help us cope with our fears, just as I was captivated by the simplistic drama of that Comic-Strip Bible. They remind us that Jesus was, indeed, super, and that Satan's Kryptonite cannot stop him.

But are we willing to mature in what we know about Christ and where we can catch glimpses of him? Will we be able to talk about more than what he might have looked like? Are we learning enough about Jesus to recognize him in the bleak scenes of the world around us, where things are not so Technicolor, and saviors don't announce themselves with bright red capes and bulging biceps?

Few moviegoers will make it through Au Hasard Balthazar without growing bored by the lack of glamour and romance in his story. It's about as different from a Fantastic Four movie as a book of Alfred Stieglitz photos is different from a comic book. But I suspect that if you meditate upon it and live with this film a while, you will be humbled as you meditate upon the ways that you participate in the persecution of Christ. And you'll be moved by his grace and drawn deeper into his mysteries. I am.

A Much More Encouraging Seminar

It is only fair for me to conclude by saying that recently, more than a decade after my rather traumatic experience projecting scenes about Jesus in front of a university crowd, things have changed.

I recently stood on the very same campus, inviting Christian moviegoers to talk about glimpses of truth and beauty on the big screen.

We watched scenes from Spider-man 2, yes.

But we also watched scenes from Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation. And then, we watched Krzysztof Kieslowski's film Three Colors: Blue in its entirety. These are challenging, subtle, poetic motion pictures. And Jesus never appears in them . . . at least, not in any obvious fashion.

And yet, the audience responded with insight, strong emotion, and appreciation for the art of the film. Granted, these were adults and not freshmen. And yet they humbled me, pointing out many profound revelations in Kieslowski's film that I had never seen before. I came away from my own seminar grateful for all that the attendees had taught me.

I'll never "master" this subject, and neither will anybody else. God's glory is shining through art - and shining through the world he made - in so many ways that the adventure will never be finished.

Many are beginning to see how Christ reveals himself in disguise, even in the work of those who do not believe in him. For we all have "eternity in our hearts," and we can't shake it, no matter how we try.

And I'll look at how that happens in the next chapter.


Through a Screen Darkly - Bonus Chapter - The Whole Wide World

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Through a Screen Darkly - Bonus Chapter - The Greatest Story Ever Told By Accident

[Including a consideration of Pan's Labyrinth, Children of Men, and Babel]

Encountering Christ While Running From Him

Those who meditate on the character of Christ will be surprised to find him everywhere ... even in movies that seem at first to have nothing to do with the Gospel.

In fact, those who try to run from him might find him smiling at them wherever they turn... even in the details of their own storytelling.

*     *     *

In 2006, three filmmakers from Mexico delivered three award-winning, astonishing films to theaters.

Guillermo Del Toro offered Pan's Labyrinth - a dark, violent fantasy film about the Spanish Civil War, and a frightened girl who escapes into a wonderland ruled by a faun.

Alfonso Cuaron directed Children of Men - a futuristic adventure in which humanity is becoming extinct due to a plague of infertility.

And Alejandro González Iñárritu gave us a candidate for Best Picture at the Oscars, a film called Babel. Babel told several stories set in different countries, in which family relationships were challenged in various, bloody ways.

All three films have earned worldwide acclaim for their technical achievement, performances, and compelling storytelling. But I doubt that you'll find many people discussing glimpses of the gospel in these films.

In fact, the directors went out of their way to make sure these stories weren't about Jesus.

*     *     *

Guillermo Del Toro made Pan's Labyrinth after turning down the opportunity to direct The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. As CNN reported, "[H]e turned it down because, as a lapsed Catholic, he couldn't see himself bringing Aslan the lion back to life." Then they quoted Del Toro as saying, "I'm not proselytizing anything about a lion resurrecting. I'm not trying to sell you into a point. I'm just doing a little parable about disobedience and choice. . . . This is my version of that universe...."

"Profound," critics are saying about this film. "Beautiful." "Moving." But what is it about the film that they are finding so transcendent? Is it merely a tale about disobedience and choice, as its director says?

Hardly. Del Toro's "version of that universe is resonant with gospel echoes.

As we watch young Ofelia, traumatized by the war, running pell-mell through the dark woods of Pan's Labyrinth, her story reminds me of the Christian life. As she struggles against darkness, unable to save the world on her own, yearning for redemption, she finds meaningful resources in the stuff of creation, and she is haunted by a sense that she belongs to a heavenly kingdom . . . a place beyond this world, and better.

Her fascist stepfather is like the devil himself, a dictator who follows a dictator and who manipulates others for his own selfish gain. Like the "prince" of this world, he just wants a son, an innocent that he can bend to carry his legacy farther. Ofelia is useless to him, an obstacle, unless he can bring her up to fear him the way other women do.

And while this fascist soldier seems to have the church on his side (the Catholic church had ill-advised connections with the fascists in that war), it should be clear to viewers that the glimmers of Christ-like love come from somewhere else in this story. Some of them come from a most unlikely character . . . a faun, a figure from pagan mythology, who tries to trick Ofelia and whispers to her that the fairy tales she imagines are actually real.

As J.R.R. Tolkien insisted, fairy tales are especially poignant because their make-believe gives us a language to express spiritual mysteries that are otherwise hard to describe. Fantasy, he said, points to a coming universal triumph of good over evil, of joy over suffering. It inspires "a catch of the breath, a beat and lifting of the heart, near to (or indeed accompanied by) tears," for through its fanciful metaphors, it gives readers "a piercing glimpse of joy, and heart's desire, that for a moment passes outside the frame, rends indeed the very web of story, and lets a gleam come through." The relevance of the fairy story to reality lies in this gleam, which is a "sudden glimpse of the underlying reality of truth."1 (These ideas are also explored in Chapter Five.)

Pan's Labyrinth gives us a heroine who looks around the "real world" and sees horror, bloodshed, obscenity, and cruelty. She leaps into a fairy tale world, where she is given tasks that help her find a way to participate in the struggle against darkness. She is given strict rules to follow, and, like Frodo in The Lord of the Rings, she fails . . . as we all do. She gives in to temptation, and disobeys.

We feel her pain, for we know that we too have failed, and something precious has been lost - innocence.

But then, suddenly, Ofelia is given another chance. She is given grace - an undeserved opportunity to find redemption in spite of her sins. And she seizes it. While this conflicts somewhat with the gospel, in which we are granted eternal life without having to accomplish any particular mission, the inclusion of this undeserved "second chance" is a big part of the story's appeal, I suspect. It "rings true."

Ofelia makes a bold choice to spill her own blood to save the life of an innocent, rather than giving up a newborn infant to be sacrificed. As we see her bleeding to death in the real world, people gather around her and weep at the injustice, the slaying of such a brave soul. What they do not see, but what Christians will recognize as the hope of heaven, is Ofelia awaking in the presence of glory to receive her true reward.

And yet, some Christians are rushing to condemn the film as mere "paganism." They do not see that even pagan fairy tales, for all of their distortions of the truth, end up affirming pieces of the gospel. Without that, they would be empty and fail to strike chords in our hearts.

It is easy to forget that Del Toro, earlier in the film, gave us a parable about a magical rose. This rose could save the world. But humankind rejected the rose, for it was surrounded with thorns and was difficult to find. They chose to abandon the rose in order to avoid suffering. And thus they missed out on the greatest gift of all.

Echoes of the Gospel . . . everywhere.

Regarding the rumors of eternal glory that glimmer through The Lord of the Rings, the actor Ian McKellen is wrong when he concludes, "I think what [Tolkien] is appealing to in human beings is to look inside yourself, and to look to your friends . . . . " No. All through Tolkien's epic there are hints of a higher power at work that can save us from our insufficiency. When we look inside of ourselves and our neighbors, we will find "eternity set in our hearts." It tells us that we serve a higher power, and he has sacrificed his own son to save us from death.

In the very same way, Pan's Labyrinth is not just about making a brave choice and saving your friends by putting your life on the line. What moves audiences most is the moment when Ofelia awakes, having returned home to the magical kingdom that was rumored to be her origin. She has passed through death into a new, vivid, heavenly life. She is welcomed home to her true family. And she receives the equivalent of "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

There is a bittersweet quality to Pan's Labyrinth, because Del Toro does not make it clear whether Ofelia is entering into a heaven of her own imagination, when in fact she's dead as a doornail, or if she is indeed returning home. Viewers will feel a surge of longing, but they may decide that this longing that dwells in each of us is just "wishful thinking." Others may recognize that there is no explanation for this common longing in all of us if redemption is not, in some form, a reality.

While the filmmaker has done what he could to avoid a Christian allegory, by smashing the mirror of the truth, his fairy tale still reflects pieces of the gospel in its shards.

Those who know Christ intimately will recognize him everywhere, lurking in disguise, like the stranger who walked on the road to Emmaeus and who talked with the two travelers as they mourned the absence of Christ. When he sat down to eat with them, they recognized him - for they had eaten with him before.

Have we nourished ourselves with the presence of Christ enough to recognize him when he manifests himself? Will we trust that he can be found, even in the best efforts of those who do not believe? Or will we instead rush to judgment of seemingly "non-Christian" storytelling.

*          *          *

In Children of Men, Alfonso Cuaron's magnificent, powerful, spellbinding nightmare of a world spinning out of control, the director and his four co-writers - Timothy J. Sexton, David Arata, Mark Fergus, Hawk Ostby - have done everything they can to erase the echoes of Christian conviction that fill their source material, a novel by P.D. James.

When Theo, a disillusioned political activist reluctantly agrees to help a faction of violent activists, he has no idea what he's getting into. They seem crazy, but when they reveal that they have the world's first pregnant woman in almost 20 years in their custody, he realizes what is at stake. And he ends up escorting this young woman, whose name is (appropriately) Kee, through a war-torn landscape in search of safety, so she can have the baby theat the world needs so much.

Cuaron and his colleagues erase P.D. James' respectful, thoughtful portrayals of Christians and turn them into ranting, raving New Agers, cult maniacs, terrorists, and lunatics. Their heroes are, instead, merely determined humanists. Those heroes strive to save the world on their own strength, and the strength of "the next generation." Instead of turning to God, they place their hope for the future in something called "The Human Project," which will help humanity overcome the plague of infertility.

I sat down with Cuaron to discuss the film, and I asked him about the Christian overtones of James' novel. Was he trying to suggest that we should not place hope in God? Had he deliberately sought to remove God from the equation?

He responded, "It's not that God is out of the equation, but I think it's too much to ask God to fix all of this mess we're in. That's the wrong sort of hope. That hope is very dangerous. I mean ... that poor guy!" He laughed, looking up, I suppose, at God, with an expression of sympathy and exasperation. "So now he's going to come and fix this mess? My view of God is that he is not necessarily 'the Super' ... you know ... where, if the boiler broke in your apartment, then God comes and fixes it for you. No. We are responsible for our apartment building. ... No, he's not going to come and fix the boiler, I'm sorry."

It's not hard to see why Cuaron wants to emphasize the importance of human involvement in the salvation of the world. After all, God did command us to "subdue and replenish the earth." But it's hard to justify the claim that the film is "based on" P.D. James' novel when they have done all they can to change the fundamental ideas of the source material to match their own skeptical, dispiriting worldview.

And yet...

As the world is crumbling, a disillusioned young man finds an inexplicably pregnant young woman. They share a moment of powerful understanding and astonishment while standing in a barn... or, if you will, a stable.

Sound familiar?

They run from the powers that be, powers that would seek to subvert their mission. And their mission is to bring this precious child into the world. For this child represents the hope of humanity.

And they are blessed by wise men.

And in the end, while this "Joseph" and "Mary" are sure to eventually die, they can hold on to hope that something transcendent has happened here.

Again, echoes of the Gospel, everywhere we turn.

*     *     *

And Babel? Where is God in Alejandro González Iñárritu's stories of human depravity, grief, and broken families?

I am moved by the way each story emphasizes that we must overcome our pride and self-absorption in order to understand and love our neighbors. But even more important than that, there are glimpses of the Virgin Mary and the Cross in the Catholic iconography behind scenes set in Mexico. These bring a saddening irony to the scenes, as human beings lose their way and fumble for help, never thinking to turn to God.

In one scene, set in Morocco, while a devastated American panics at the side of his dying wife, he sees a Muslim man turn to pray that God will help this suffering stranger. The American seems startled, confounded by what he sees. We don't know what's going on in his head, but it's hard not to wonder if he might be thinking about prayer himself. Maybe there's something to this, this instinctual appeal to heaven practiced by this Muslim who follows "old world" ways.

And in one of the film's most affecting moments, a child is willing to risk his life to save an endangered family member.

Iñárritu told me that he believes all people, from all cultures, share a "spiritual spine" . . . a remnant of what unites us, a cord connecting us with something greater. He did not give me a name for that "spine," nor did he identify a "source" from which we come. But he chose the title of his film very deliberately. The Old Testament tale of the Tower of Babel teaches that humankind scattered, their language confused, their cultures divided, because they were so proud as to turn their eyes away from God.

And the film's only answer for the trouble of the world comes when people stop acting as if they are gods and humble themselves to serve one another the way that Christ served the church.

*          *          *

These three filmmakers from Mexico are, in fact, good friends. And as the Oscars for 2006 approached, there were articles everywhere about "the Three Amigos" who had invigorated Spanish-language filmmaking.

But they are also united in the way that their films so boldly, clearly, and yes - accidentally - reaffirm things that Jesus taught and demonstrated.

As we learn to know Christ, we can recognize his face, his character, his choices, his teachings, reaffirmed again and again on the screen. And we'll come to recognize him everywhere - not just in films by "the Three Amigos," but even in a movie that is called The Three Amigos.

After all, that ridiculous comedy starring Steve Martin, Martin Short, and Chevy Chase tells the story of a people who needed salvation from a devilish oppressor. When the three amigos rode into town, they found that the people believed in an idealized "three amigos" - heroic, humble, generous redeemers from another culture who would save them from evil. And so, they have to put aside their ego and selfishness and become true selfless saviors. Like Christians, who know they are unworthy to work in the name of Christ, so these three goofballs learn that true glory comes from serving somebody else.

Am I taking this too far?

Perhaps. Certainly there are richer works of art than flimsy Hollywood comedies. But it should encourage us to see that - whether it's a heavy international drama like Babel, or a cheap laugh-fest like The Three Amigos - the stories stick with us because they have a handle on the truth.

And speaking of Babel, there are more and more movies all the time that give us a "God's-eye" view of the world. It seems many filmmakers are rising to the challenge, hoping to show us the whole wide world. Let's consider, now, a few of those films.


A Conversation with Fritz Liedtke, photographer, about "Skeletons in the Closet"

Before I pose any questions to photographer Fritz Liedtke, I want you to read his remarkably candid, challenging "artist's statement" about his latest photography exhibit: Skeleton in the Closet.

Liedtke's art was on display in Portland, Oregon last month, but the project is still growing and is sure to resurface with startling new images. In fact, you can peruse the photographs right now on his website, or on the site specifically devoted to this exhibit.

But first, Liedtke's statement. Then, I'll pose him some questions about his provocative work.

Skeleton in the Closet
Ordinary People, Disordered Eating
Photographs by Fritz Liedtke

“I’ve seen thinner.”

The woman looking at these photographs paused, closed the book. “It’s true,” I replied. “Some of these men and women are healthy now. Some are very sick, and yet look healthy. Some, even with anorexia and bulimia, can be quite heavy. And some people who look quite normal—people you know, even—have an eating disorder in their history.”

I’ve seen thinner. We all have: the emaciated frames, the walking skeletons, the naked bones, the withering models. We’ve all seen these shocking, grotesque images, and there are enough of them in the world. The men and women in this series have looked this way before; some still do. Beneath the layers of clothing and confusion is skin stretched over bones, which they are loathe to reveal. They have, as it were, a skeleton in the closet.

Read more


A Conversation with Margaret D. Smith, Poet and Author of "Holy Struggle" and "Barn Swallow"

TWO POEMS BY MARGARET D. SMITH

Pavel talks to me over lunch

My farmhouse is away, so far from Prague
there are no planes, not even cars.

You can hear everything that way.
The pigeons make love on rooftops,

workers talk in fields,
bees make sounds like music far off.

My grandfather loved bees.
He left Prague to live in that farmhouse

to raise bees: bees in boxes, bees in fields.
When he died he left me his farmhouse.

The first time I stepped inside after he was gone,
rooms were dark, my shoes hollow,

and all I could smell
was honey.

Yes

A flying squirrel only falls slowly....
A sun is a star, but not all stars are suns.
Waves move in light. Grass grows down.
All those names of things we had been given
were not true, not true, but somehow yes.
We don't know what, but maybe
there is a name somewhere.

TALKING WITH MARGARET D. SMITH AT "THE EAGLE AND CHILD"

Talking about poetry with Margaret D. Smith is like jumping into a pile of autumn leaves. By the end of the conversation, there are beautiful observations scattered everywhere, and you want to preserve each one.

Publishing a conversation with her is like raking those leaves back into a pile, so I can give you a turn jumping.

Margaret's latest poetry collection is entitled Barn Swallow. You can purchase it from the author: But you don't have to read the poems to enjoy our conversation here. I enjoy corresponding with Margaret via email because her responses are worth saving and sharing. And her blog is a chronicle of seemingly ordinary moments… moments she shares in her own particular way so that they come alive.

When I proposed this interview, Margaret responded with one of her bright ideas. What if each message we sent to each other ended with a question… not just from the interviewer, but also from the interviewee?

I might have tried to answer her questions. But as I read her replies, I thought it might be better just to let her questions hang in the air… something for the reader to take away and think about.

So here we go...

Overstreet:

As a longtime reader and admirer, I probably presume to think I know you. And I would be wrong. Would you please re-introduce yourself? Who the heck are you, anyway?

Smith:

I'm Margaret, which means "pearl," which means a many-layered, opalescent source of irritation.

But my last name is Smith; my whole name means "pearl maker," so I'm really an oyster.

As a writer, artist and musician, I find myself doing art in a struggle to understand how to be in love with God, who refuses to be understood, even as he begs to be in relationship. God's presence in me is like a grain of sand. He neither shows himself visibly nor goes away, and this agitates me daily. So I cover and cover that holy irritation with layers from my own core. Don't we all?

Overstreet:

You have a new book called Barn Swallow.

But I'm still recovering from your poetic exploration of the imagination of Gerard Manley Hopkins, A Holy Struggle: Unspoken Thoughts of Hopkins. If a reader wanted to discover that beautiful book, do you know how they could get their hands on a copy?

Smith:

I'm working on a third printing of A Holy Struggle, which should be out in plenty of time for the 120th anniversary of Hopkins' death (2009).

In the meantime, readers can go to amazon.com or bn.com or any number of online bookstores that sell used — I mean pre-loved — books.

What Barn Swallow has that Struggle doesn't have is a distillation of twenty years of poems, written in my own voice. I wrote Struggle in Hopkins' journal voice, causing readers everywhere to ask, if they happened to skip the preface, "Did Hopkins write this book, or did Margaret?"

Overstreet:

How has Hopkins influenced your own poetry? And who else has helped tune your writing instruments?

Smith:

Besides the influence of Hopkins' poems on my poems, there is the overarching influence of his life on my life. I've been struck by what he writes in his letters and journals. There's his dry humor, no matter what he was going through at the time. There's his genius, which is impossible to fathom. And there's the way he willingly chose to sacrifice, time and again, rather than to gain fame or stature as a poet. He didn't pretend to be humble, fingers crossed behind his back, secretly aiming for fame, but fame happened to him anyway after he died. God is funny like that.

Whenever I think I'm done mining Hopkins, another gold vein opens up. I've written a screenplay based on Hopkins' time in Wales, where poetry spurted out of him after his seven-year silence. I've attended the International Hopkins Summer School in Ireland for three years, presenting lectures on Hopkins to international academics one day and to young, gifted Irish students the next. On the Oregon Coast at a reading series, I recently read poems of Hopkins, talked about his life, and performed music based on his poems. And I've got another book on Hopkins in the works, which I'll talk about some day when it's ready. I'm not tired of him, and he's not done with me, so this love affair might continue throughout my life.

I've been influenced by a number of poets, from Rumi and Basho to Dickinson. I'm often quoting bits of poems to myself. There's Frost: "Something there is that doesn't love a wall, that sends the frozen groundswell under it." Or Edna St Vincent Millay: "I know what my heart is like after your love died: it is like a hollow ledge holding a little pool left there by the tide, a little tepid pool, drying inward from the edge." Or Sandburg: "In your blue eyes, O reckless child, I saw today many little wild wishes, eager as the great morning." Or the Swedish poet Edith Sodergran, who actually died in the 1920s of starvation because her poetry was labeled "too natural": "My soul was a light blue dress the color of the sky. I left it on a rock by the sea." I'm influenced by as many good poets as I read. Linda Hogan's line, "Birds fly in and out a thousand windows" is one of my favorite pieces of poetry.

What does it mean to be under the influence of another poet without going under?

Overstreet:

You've lived a lot of places, and now you're the Poet Queen of Astoria. You seem to like it there. Why are you moving now?

Smith:

I don't think anyone has called me the Poet Queen of anyplace, but thanks for the compliment.

Katherine Bond wrote recently about my essays on the Oregon Coast: "Sometimes you long for solitude – great extended stretches of it in a location where the pace is much slower: where you can walk into town and visit with the sea lions on the dock over a cup of good coffee, where eagles swing suddenly over your roof and deer curl trustingly on your back lawn. Margaret Smith lives in such a place...."

Astoria has been a good place, but now I feel God kicking me out of the nest, as it were, drawing me out of the boat onto the stormy waves to the next step, with no clear message except to trust him. It seems the Portland area is the place to be going next, but I'm open. I'm in the middle of moving in the next few weeks with nothing more than a certain intuition that I should go, so prayer and chutzpah is needed. "Lord, if that's you out there, tell me to come out on to the waves to you." What is it that drives a nomad away from one watering place toward another?

Overstreet:

Whose imaginations have had the biggest influences on your writing? Who set the kindling in place?

Smith:

Walt Wangerin, a consuming storyteller, filled with pipe smoke and the Holy Ghost, more an Old Testament prophet than anything else;

Eugene Peterson, a quiet retired preacher who cares deeply about the common reader;

Annie Dillard, who writes like other people drive nails;

Luci Shaw, who for 30 years has shared so many interests (Hopkins, Celtic music and blue glass, for example);

and my mom, who urged me (age 9) to publish my poems on ditto paper, with accompanying drawings. Does anyone remember how wonderful ditto paper smelled, fresh off the machine, the purple ink forever smearing on our hands? I just wondered.

Overstreet:

Let’s talk a bit about the new collection, Barn Swallow.

In these poems, you frequently express a desire not only to observe creation, but to merge with it… to feel what it feels. In the poem called “Unveiled,” you want to feel the urgency of the waves crashing upon the rocks. What's going on here?

Smith:

For poems, I don't observe nature with an impersonal eye, record it in a notebook and report on it. That's what scientists and nonfiction writers do so well. What poets do, when they're doing their job, is to empathize so deeply with a natural object (shooting star, cliff, tarantula) that they do merge with it. The poets love that thing as deeply as possible until the two become one.

When Jesus says, "Consider the flowers of the field," he is saying "sit with," meditate upon, gaze in wonder at them, as if they were each an icon of their Creator. Close off the noisy world for a minute, Jesus says, and pay deep affection and attention.

Once I was given the strange assignment in a poetry workshop to study a daisy for ten minutes. It sounded extreme, and at first I thought I couldn't possibly study it for more than 30 seconds without knowing all there was to know about it. But after a while, I felt I was above a field of yellow mustard flowers, looking down from a great height. I studied how each petal was hinged to the core. And I began to love that daisy. Jesus said, in effect, study the flowers, and you will come to love them and love their Creator who cares for them and cares for you, making a good love triangle. When I stop and deeply consider some created thing, I discover there's a metaphor of God in there for me.

It astonishes me how nonchalant nature is. It mirrors God without self-consciousness. Today on my walk, I saw a kingfisher perched a few feet away on a branch over the Columbia River. He was bright blue, with a way of blending in to the river background. I stopped and tried to study him, but he flew away, and all I got was a glimpse. How is God like a kingfisher?

Overstreet:

In "Skin," you observe children in the presence of Christ, and how they would rather "cuddle and be teased" than be merely "blessed." What is important to you about the distinction?

It makes me think of the distinction between art and sermons. One teases us, plays with us, intrigues us… while the other delivers or presents something.

Am I crazy, or is there some kind of connection there?

Smith:

One of my favorite paintings of Jesus was on a simple Sunday School poster when I was little. He was looking directly at the viewer, mouth open in happy recognition. I could imagine this Jesus being my friend. I felt nothing for the other Jesus, the one placing his hand on children's heads as they sat on his lap as if they were getting pictures taken with Santa. The personal Jesus is able to tease me — yes, great art does this, too — whispering, knowing my name before I speak it. The placid Jesus, like a non-threatening sermon no one is affected by, has nothing to do with the world-twisting gospel, nothing to do with art that maddens and gives joy.

When you make art, you have to choose between beige and indigo, old wineskins and new ones. If Jesus were arrested for being a subversive artist, what would be the charges?

Overstreet:

This constant process of looking outward — at the sea, at the bird, at the whale — gives me the impression that creation is, in your perspective, more a form of language than just an environment. But that language always seems to be speaking of something just out of reach.

In "This is where I am," there seems to be an unspoken second clause — "and this is where I am wishing to be." In that poem you suggest our longings aren't just for something we don't have, but they're leaning backward, toward something that we once truly knew, the way we can remember a song even if it's not playing just now. Am I getting the right idea? It reminds me of Plato's idea that all learning is actually an act of remembering. What does this act of "remembering" through art do for you?

Smith:

There's a poem I've written in A Holy Struggle. Part of it goes like this: "The bliss, a poem is, of being born, coupled with extraordinary tension, which is dying." After a few lines it continues, "The birth a poem is, of death, which is the death of it."

Somehow a poem, like a child, can be created — birthed — out of great love and great pain. A poem can cause readers to be pierced with love or pain as they experience a new in-sight, for example, of black winter trees "clapping their branches," as I've written in a poem. Some readers of that phrase will know it hearkens back to the Old Testament's promise of trees of the field clapping their hands, and those readers will compare the two images, one a promise and one a present reality. In that poem of the clapping winter branches is the seed of life and the seed of death. One reason poems can seem so sad and lovely is their attempt to describe a fading instant on a small page. But doesn't the fact that a good poem lives on, even after the reader and poet have died, mean that death has been defeated after all?

Overstreet:

As I read these poems, I feel like you're selecting a variety of tiny mysteries, placing them under slides, focusing the microscope, and inviting me to take a look. Again and again, you take us deep into something very small, and you reveal that everything is vast… and vastly important. This raises the question: Why do you suppose this is the nature of your poems? Why are you drawn to "the vastness of small things"?

Smith:

I'll respond to that by giving you this complete and tiny essay I wrote recently, called "Xillions of Stars":

"Reading Bill Bryson`s steamy science book, A Short History of Nearly Everything, I feel like kneeling when I find out with all our fine knowledge we have no idea just how many xillions of galaxies there are, and to think that God names the stars and not just by number but probably Aragon and Sweetpea, pet names."

For the past year I've been especially intrigued with "the smallness of God." That phrase is an important part of the book of small essays I'm writing. The smallness of God means that (number one) God cares intimately for the smallest things that escape our notice as we run noisily through our day, and (number two) God became flesh and pitched his tent among us, becoming small so we, who bungle every deal God offers, could let him feel what it's like to be human, to be loved and despised in a small frame of bones.

I don't understand any of this very well; I probably never will. But the smallness of God, the Incarnation, God bothering to be with us, is what I am ruminating about. It spills out into my writing without warning. Why do we still, after Jesus went to all that trouble, love big things like success more than small things like slugs, when we know he wants us to care about the small things?

Overstreet:

The gift of your poems is, again and again, comfort. Contentment. Look here, and you will find some peace … whether you're looking at a barn swallow ("Desires") or suddenly noticing the smile of a passing stranger ("Recognition"). I keep thinking throughout the book, "His eye is on the sparrow." I find that considering these small birds, these fleeting details, and finding that God has given attention even to these, it's reassuring.

Do you turn to art so that you can share the comfort you've found, or do you go there to find it for yourself?

Smith:

I appreciate what you say here, because that peace does come with a price. I wrestle with something; I write a poem. Here's a complete poem I wrote October 1, as I saw the leaves turning gold too fast:

Dear trees,
please leave
a little this
afternoon, don't
fade so
gold you drop all
knowledge.
Remember in March
you thought every
small warm tic
of the wind
was a promise,
not an aching
song of a child's
too-far-gone
call through
bare woods.

The poem gives me some measure of peace, showing me something I hadn't considered before. In this case, I could tell myself that next March, any brief warmth will be a promise, not a sadness of summer leaving.

When I do read my poems to an audience, I look around the room. After a few minutes, people look peaceful, even if that means they've been "found out" because I told the truth. Poets might be seen as today's prophets, foretelling disaster and promise to people who are going about their business, noses to the grindstone, eyes on the next month's rent. Poets who are doing their job speak their despair and their hope, not just to shout "I'm in pain!" but to bring peace, or a simple moment of silence. When poets tell the truth with love, it helps heal a hurting neighborhood. If my struggling is translated into peace for others, isn't that a sharp-edged gift?

Overstreet:

You seem to be constantly interested in not just poetry or music or painting by itself, but in a combination of the arts. Why is that?

Smith:

Art is art, whether it's a collage, a poem or a song.

Bringing a group of people together -- as I do in workshops -- to make poem collages of words from magazines, for example, is a way I can help break through an outmoded mindset. Academics have told us since the Renaissance that we need to categorize and cubbyhole the arts. The way we've been raised, we are sure that there's an "-ist" at the end of every art form, that artists work in seclusion (from one another and from the everyday world), and that watercolor and trombones should never mix.

But art wasn't always like this. A while ago, all of the world's art meant nothing outside of community. The whole neighborhood got together, dancing around a fire with carved instruments and beaded jewelry, singing and telling stories. There you have dance, visual art, music and storytelling, all wrapped together.

Now, after centuries of picking apart the various art forms and making sure they stay away from each other, we're starting to return, in the 21st century, to that connectedness among the arts and among artists of different media. In art galleries today, we're seeing connections people haven't thought of for years: placing music and voices alongside paintings and sculpture.

Haven't artists always used metaphor to connect things? The stranger the connection, the stronger it becomes, which is why children think up some of the best metaphors. Who came up with the image of herringbone skies?


Through a Screen Darkly - Bonus Commentary - The Court Jester of Christian Rock

Christian Culture's Court Jester: A Note of Thanks to Steve Taylor

This reflection on the work of Steve Taylor was originally intended as part of the chapter on comedy in Through a Screen Darkly.

Directed by the Court Jester of Christian Rock
As a teenager, I was disillusioned with the relentless, unflinching solemnity and superficiality of most contemporary Christian music. A great deal of what I heard on Christian radio amounted to a tiresome program of redundant, shallow praises; disposable, simplistic choruses; sentimental appeals to emotion rather than challenging observations or provocative poetry. They were played with effusive piano flourishes, programmed keyboards, cheesy drum machines, and amateur electric guitars.

The Book of Psalms is constantly calling for "a new song" to be offered in praise of God's greatness, but when I tuned in to the Christian radio station, I heard music that lacked passion, authenticity, and true musicianship. It wasn't new at all. It was a cheap imitation of what had been popular on secular radio a year earlier. I heard people giving God mediocrity instead of excellence.

Along came a tall, somewhat gawky, mischievous clown named Steve Taylor, whose songs shocked and troubled many who heard them. He wrote songs that made fun of Christian culture, highlighting the tendency of churches to develop their own codes of conformity and judgmentalism like any other community.

"I Want to Be a Clone" became an anthem for frustrated Christian youth who knew that being a Christian meant more than learning the right answers to questions, feeling good about ourselves, and accepting whatever sermons were preached at us.

"Meltdown" was a song mocking pop culture's obsession with fashion and surface details. Taylor used extreme metaphors to draw our attention to important unspoken truths.

In "Lifeboat," children sang a shocking chorus about throwing the elderly, the injured, the weak, and the disabled out of a boat. In doing so, Taylor spotlighted society's dangerous and arrogant progression toward the devaluation of certain lives. He emphasized, by implication, that it is sinful to reject those whose presence seems inconvenient or discomforting.

Come to think of it, Christ himself was rather fond of exaggeration for effect. To explain how important it is that we avoid sin, he said that if a part of our body is involved in misbehavior we should cut it off. The church has had very little trouble recognizing the exaggeration — I don't know of any denominations in which the men actually gouge out their eyes if they find themselves momentarily distracted by a Victoria's Secret commercial.

To explain just how difficult it was to surrender one's pride and submit to God, Christ described salvation as a process of being born into the world all over again. Prone to offense, literal-minded Pharisees were bewildered at such talk. But Nicodemus was brave enough to inquire about the teacher's extreme claim. He asked Jesus if this meant he would have to climb back inside his mother's womb. Jesus patiently introduced Nicodemus to the idea of the Fanciful Metaphor, explaining that such colorful terms gave us a way of understanding something crucial.

But Steve Taylor did more than poke fun at Christian and secular culture. He also sang songs that were affirmations of true faith, confessions of doubt and failure. Because of his willingness to laugh at the folly of believers, his songs of praise to God resonated with integrity and authenticity. (And I must not forget to mention ... these were powerful, excellent songs, full of specificity and personality.)

Many of us found great relief in his music because we knew that his vision was sharp enough to see the hypocrisy, self-righteousness, and power-plays happening in the name of Christ. And it bolstered our faith to learn that someone could see these things, laugh at them, reject them, and offer his praise and allegiance to God.

Did I mention that his melodies and music showed more ingenuity and craftsmanship than almost anything else on Christian radio? In fact, when Taylor formed a rock group called Chagall Guevara, their first album exhibited such vision and quality that even the mainstream press noticed - Rolling Stone heralded the band as the most exciting rock group since The Clash.

Steve Taylor is still courageously lifting up mirrors so that the church can see its flaws and learn from the experience. His first film, The Second Chance, is about the pastor of an inner-city church who struggles to meet the needs of the desperate and the despairing. The mega-church that oversees this smaller ministry decides to eliminate the facility in order to earn money for an expansion, proceeding with a blind eye to the damage this will do to those in serious need.

The film stars Michael W. Smith as the music minister of the mega-church, a man who comes to see just how far he has strayed from Christ's teaching. Because he is the son of the mega-church's pastor, he finds himself caught in the middle, trying to do the right thing.

The film received mixed responses by Christian culture, and the lack of enthusiasm from its intended audience and its studio doomed its theatrical release. I read more than one review in Christian publications in which the writer complained that Taylor should not have discussed the imperfections of the church in front of a secular audience.

And in this way, we reinforce the point - that we are too proud to admit our weaknesses, and the gross caricatures painted by mainstream culture which ridicule Christians as pious and condescending, well, they're often right on the mark.

In Thoughts in Solitude, Thomas Merton writes:

Teach me to bear a humility which shows me, without ceasing, that I am a liar and a fraud and that, even though this is so, I have an obligation to strive after truth, to be as true as I can, even though I will inevitably find all my truth half poisoned with deceit. This is the terrible thing about humility: that it is never fully successful. If it were only possible to be completely humble on this earth. But, no, that is the trouble.

It takes humility to do good comedy. It takes humility to receive it.

And for the gift of his insightful comedy, I want to thank Steve Taylor. He's the real thing, and he's made a huge difference in my life.

a conversation with Steve Taylor

I spoke with Steve Taylor in October 2006 about the DVD release of his film The Second Chance.

JO: First of all, a formal eruption of gratitude: When I was but a teenager, bewildered and be-pimpled, your songwriting had a great deal to do with my learning to think more carefully about my faith. You prevented me from blowing up any clinics or throwing anyone off lifeboats. And it gave me a lot of courage to question and challenge behavior within Christian circles that did not align with the teachings of Christ. Thank you. Thank you. And thank you again.

(Now's your chance to deflect all of this praise and say, "I couldn't have done it without...")

ST: ...couldn't have done it without (in no particular order) The Clash, Francis Schaeffer, my parents, David Bowie, Randy Newman, Os Guinness, Elvis Costello, Tony Campolo...hmmm, the list needs more women...Flannery O'Connor, Mother Teresa...

JO: Let's stroll back down memory lane a bit: It must have been challenging to deal with the range of responses that your early albums received, as they were rowdy and challenging compared to the norm? Do you have any scars from having the courage to introduce elements such as satire and irony into the arena of Christian music?

ST: For better or worse, it was all I knew how to do. The style of music I wanted to make seemed to demand that type of lyric. And there were enough absurdities going on within Christendom that I had no problem finding material - I recall some very large fish swimming in the proverbial barrel.

JO: How do you think the opportunities and challenges for Christians who are singers and songwriters have changed since you were starting out? Or have they?

ST: I look at someone like Sufjan Stevens as the best current example of what's possible these days. If you're undeniably good, being a Christian no longer seems to carry the same stigma that it did in past decades.

JO: Did you want to become a filmmaker all along the way? Were you dancing in the video to "Jim Morrison's Grave" while thinking, "What I really want to do is direct?" Or is that a more recent development?

ST: It preceded my musical aspirations and dates all the way back to grade school. I'm sure it somehow tied in with my top priority from the day I entered kindergarten: Making girls laugh. I studied both music and filmmaking in college, but the opportunities came faster in music. I decided feature filmmaking could wait, and I was able to keep my toe in the filmmaking pond by directing music videos, promo pieces and documentaries.

JO: What have you learned from the experience of developing, filming, releasing, and marketing The Second Chance? What will you do differently on your next film projects?

ST: I'm not a mathematician, but coming from the world of music, the rough equation would be m=aX10 (movie = album X 10). If an album cost around $100,000 to make, then add another zero for the movie budget. If an album took 8-10 weeks, the movie took a couple of years. For every critical creative decision made daily on an album, there were ten times that many coming at me each day on the movie set. For every person in the recording studio, there were 10-20 on set. Maybe I'll run this equation by Stephen Hawking for a proof.

The process of making the movie was pretty wonderful. I don't want this to sound like an awards speech, but I had great creative collaborators including my longtime cinematographer and co-writer Ben Pearson, my other co-writer Chip Arnold, producers Coke Sams and Clarke Gallivan, and a really fine crew. I also loved working with the actors, many of whom were shooting their first movie. Michael W. Smith was a blast to work with as well as a great encourager, and his co-star jeff obafemi carr was superb.

It was a very tight budget, which affects everything, but I'm pleased with the way it turned out. I'd originally wanted my directorial debut to be a comedy, but that script wasn't ready and this one was. In retrospect, it was probably for the best - the story in The Second Chance seems to pull people in, which helps make my rookie director mistakes a bit less obvious.

The marketing was a bit more problematic. I encountered a lot of the same attitudes that made me want to start my own record label, including some baffling decisions that I protested quite loudly at the time. But ultimately it wasn't an area I could exert much influence over. And the nice thing about DVDs is that they provide their own second chance.

JO: Recently, I read an interview in which a Christian artist flinched at criticism of his work. He pointed to the money it was making, and the number of people who had testified that the work brought them to Christ, and he said that this was all the evidence he needed that he had fulfilled his role as an artist and a Christian. Personally, I'm skeptical that box office success and the number of souls saved have much to do with artistic excellence.

How do you measure the success of a project? What is it that tells you that a film, or a song, is as good as it should be?

ST: I'm sure he and I wouldn't get on very well, because that attitude drives me nuts.

Filmmaking is a particularly bad career choice if you're afraid of criticism, because when it comes to movies, everyone's a critic. Since I knew The Second Chance had scenes and themes that some could find offensive or controversial, a lot of the final editing process involved showing it to audiences and seeing if it was controversial for the right reasons. I wasn't willing to stop editing until I was reasonably sure the movie was hitting the right notes with its intended audience.

I looked forward to reading the reviews, and I thought for the most part the critics were pretty fair and the critical consensus was about right. Since I've still got so much to learn as a filmmaker, any advice from seasoned experts is a blessing.

There are various artifacts from my creative past that make me wince, but it wasn't for lack of trying at the time. My goal is to not to let anything go out the door until it's as good as I can make it.

JO: What has been the most gratifying outcome of making The Second Chance?

ST: With the country so polarized at the moment, I was happy that a movie coming from an "orthodox" Christian perspective could cross so many lines. People on all sides of the various divides felt like this was "their" movie.

And, of course, I was happy that our little movie got picked up by Sony Pictures Releasing. Since I'd taken out a second mortgage on my house to make it, that part felt a bit like a non-gambler winning the lottery.

JO: You've said that you chose this project because it was about "what you know"... pastors, churches, and church culture. Filmmakers do frequently misrepresent what pastors and churches are really like, so it's good that you took this on. Have you had much feedback from pastors about The Second Chance? Have they been pleased or challenged by the film?

ST: It's ultimately a movie made for the church, and it's meant to make people uncomfortable, as it deals with issues we as a church don't necessarily want to address. The reaction from most pastors I spoke to was very favorable, but it did make some of them nervous. One of my favorite scenes is early on in a restaurant when the senior pastor won't send his steak back - the server knows who he is, and he just doesn't feel comfortable causing extra trouble. My dad was like that, and it's one of many things I admire about him. When you're a pastor, you're reminded daily that your life is not your own.

A constant challenge in crafting the story was to keep enough dramatic tension so the plot moves forward without drifting into simplistic propaganda of the "Big White Church Bad/Little Black Church Good" variety. Audiences have been conditioned by Hollywood to think in simplistic terms, especially when it comes to matters of faith and race, and we tend to view such conflicts as The Man vs. The Underdog. We worked hard to give everyone their reasons - even the head of The Rock's board believes his job is all about stewardship.

I thought Michael W. Smith made a particularly gutsy decision in playing his role - his public profile made the part more relatable to a church audience, and he wasn't afraid to play a very flawed character. That particular bit of casting still feels to me like an appropriately subversive way to get people to watch a movie that's meant to make them squirm.

JO: If you could set up a film course for aspiring filmmakers, what films would you have them watch, and why?

ST: I'd start with a double feature of The Bicycle Thief and Raising Arizona. Then I'd ask anyone who didn't like either of the movies to please leave and never come back.

JO: What kind of preconceptions would you most like to see artists within the church start to overcome in the next decade?

ST: Steve Turner's book "Imagine" has already made the case. The Amazon link is here.

JO: If the next generation's Steve Taylor were to show up in Christian music right now, what kinds of things would he be singing to rattle the cages and shake up the status quo? (And, I know you're sick of this, but I promised someone that I'd ask... Is there any chance of another rock album from the Fritz-master?)

ST: If I thought too hard about that question, it would just make me want to get back into the recording studio. And I certainly haven't ruled that out for some future date, but for now I'm itching to make more movies.

JO: What have you heard recently, out there on the open sea of music, that's made you go berserk with joy like the dudes in those iPod commercials?

ST: It's a long list - now that I'm no longer in the music business, I actually enjoy listening to music again: Sufjan, Arcade Fire, clean versions of Kanye West, the Danielson "Ships" album, various L.A. Symphony tracks, a Nashville band called Umbrella Tree...hmmm, the list needs more women - did Mother Teresa ever record anything?

JO: In "Harrowdown Hill," when Thom Yorke sings, "Did I fall or was I pushed?", is he referring to your accident at Cornerstone 1984?

ST: The festival's name was no accident - anything of musical value in the last twenty-five years can somehow be traced back to Cornerstone.


Through a Screen Darkly - Bonus Commentary - Spooked by Safe

This reflection on Todd Haynes' film Safe was originally intended as part of the examination of horror films in Through a Screen Darkly.

"Is it safe?"

Thanks to a nightmare-inducing movie called Marathon Man, those three simple words send chills down my spine. Laurence Olivier asked that question, again and again, playing the role of a sadistic Nazi war criminal who is torturing his captive. Dustin Hoffman is strapped into a dentist's chair, screaming as the wicked doctor pulls at his teeth and jabs at nerve endings. He does not know what his captor is talking about. He has no answer to the question.

"Is it safe?"

The question becomes the answer - no, it definitely isn't safe.

It's the same question that hovers over the entirety of Todd Haynes' little-known, but unforgettable picture misleadingly titled Safe.

*          *          *

Safe begins in a discomforting stillness, leaving us to grope for our bearings.

We're looking out through the car windshield on a suburban community. In the dim light, this suburban neighborhood seems rather unsettling. The streets are empty. The houses are dark. And we're not sure if the occupants of the car are a threat or sympathetic. We don't hear a thing. Just the low hum of the car. Is it silent in the car, or is the director depriving us of hearing what is going on? It seems we're sealed in an insulated world, looking at a ghost town, which is reflected in an inverted image on the polished, glossy hood of the car - a quiet suggestion of an upside-down world, a false and distorted reality.

It could be that the reflection is incidental, or that the quiet is just the setup for a car crash or a shout. But no. The car glides smoothly into the garage of an ordinary house, and the couple get out. They may as well be sleepwalking. We can hear them say something to each other. Their words are muffled, but the tone tells us that it's probably a practical exchange. They've probably done this hundreds of times.

The opening title, when it appears, is styled like the narrow, forbidding figures of a horror movie title.

Is a serial killer waiting inside? Will we learn someone was hiding in the back seat?

Suddenly, we're startled by the shift into a downward-looking view of the couple having sex. We see the husband's back, and Carol's face staring absently up at the ceiling. Her face bears the expression of someone patiently finishing a chore. She doesn't look miserable, but there is no passion. There is, in fact, nothing. And when he's finished, well, that's that.

Has she surrendered to doing things his way? Or is she just passionless and uninterested?

So now we are suspecting that she is profoundly lonely and detached. But why?

As her husband departs, we notice, because we're waiting to see his face, that the camera is not in any hurry to reveal him to us. And we shift into assuming that the film is about the woman.

And the next scene confirms this even more. Carol is working in the manicured yard, wearing designer jeans and working in the orderly garden. And as her husband leaves for work, we're still disallowed a clear view of his face.

Haynes has already drawn our focus to elements that are prominent themes in his work: the stifling effect of order, the suffocating effect of wealth, the bondage of cultural "peer pressure," and the soul's hunger for passion and intimacy. The cold beams of the electronic soundtrack only accentuate the superficiality of the visible world in which Carol is trapped. Haynes' camerawork feels dispassionate and clinical, like we're watching a science experiment instead of a drama.

It may be, in fact, a science experiment. We learn very soon that something is, indeed, terribly wrong. When the horror sinks its claws in, we watch Carol gasping for breath. Is it a dark secret? A double life? An alien presence? Undiagnosed illness? An invisible wraith? Food allergies?

The tension rises as we begin to search for the cause of such cold, empty behavior, such harrowing episodes of hyperventilation.

As the film progresses, we may begin to discern what threads are binding the scenes together, like the tendency to show vast empty spaces around the central figures, the curious habit of characters to crowd together in corners, or to separate themselves with walls.

You may come to a completely different conclusion than me. My thoughts about Carol's affliction change from viewing to viewing. Currently, I am suspecting that the situation reflects something more than a physical affliction. Haynes has lent a slight exaggeration to everything, emphasizing ever so slightly the ways that decorum, formality, affluence, and all of the trappings of civilization can cloak an emptiness of the spirit, serving as disguises for (and distractions from) our flaws, our fears, our need. It might also be true that these formalities prevent that void from being filled.

Haynes' refusal to serve up a simple solution for this misery can be frustrating at first. But that is what makes Safe so interesting, so compelling. He's demonstrating the ability of art to ask profound questions. In fact, the film is more than a question - Safe is an expression of lack, a despairing sort of cry.

There is nowhere we can go that is safe from the incompleteness of the human condition... at least, not in this film.

*          *          *

I recently observed, in an online conversation between moviegoing friends, a perfect example of how a horror film can be crafted in a way that serves more than it scares.

John Adair, a doctoral candidate in historical theology who lives in Dallas, participates in an online film-discussion group that recently agreed to watch Safe on DVD for the first time and discuss it. John's a thoughtful viewer - he cherishes Kieslowski's Decalogue. And when he posted his first impressions of Safe, I felt that familiar thrill, seeing someone else experience the kind of epiphany that draws me back to the movies again and again.

He wrote:

The initial thing that struck me was Haynes' reserved style. The shots tend to be wide, allowing the actors to act in front of us, rather than using editing to elicit reactions from the viewer. This forces us to react to what is going on before us, to formulate an opinion, to have a perspective of our own on the events taking place.

It's interesting to me that John started by examining the camerawork and editing, instead of going straight to how it made him feel. And what he noticed is very important. Most filmmakers give us a variety of shots during a scene, as if worried they'll lose our attention. In doing so they emphasize what they think is important about the scene. In Safe, Haynes discomforts us by making us decide for ourselves what to focus on, as if we're Carol's neighbors watching her through the window. In doing so, he turns us into searchers, like Carol, trying to make sense of her suffering.

But John was just getting started. He went on to point out ways in which Haynes' direction showed Carol "isolated throughout much of the film." He noticed details about her sex life, her lack of communication with her worried husband, her conversations with her friends, and her interaction with a psychiatrist that reinforced his sense of her isolation.

Finding a pattern, John grew interested in what it meant. But he wasn't just watching, detached, like Damiel looking down on Marion in Wings of Desire. John knew that his own personal experience was affecting his perspective. And as he allowed the horror of Carol's experience to sink in and mix with his own experience, he discovered something about himself.

...About midway through, I realized my reaction to Carol and her plight was more negative than I would hope for myself. I found it difficult to connect with her. She just seemed weak and weepy and it was frustrating me.

But this is where I think the greatness of this film comes in. Because of its pulled back style, it allowed me to formulate that opinion for myself, and thus turn a mirror on myself that would not have happened had Haynes been pulling out all the little tricks to get me to empathize with his main character.

I almost feel like Haynes is doing everything he can to isolate Carol from any experience that is familiar to the audience. Her husband doesn't know what's going on with her. Her doctors can't figure out what it is. Even the people at the ranch don't seem all that insightful into her problems. Yet still she struggles and suffers.

And then he came to a conclusion.

In doing so, the film revealed to me that my own empathy has limits, which of course I know, but it's still a powerful moment of realization for me. The film, through showing the weakness of a person, in its own way, revealed my own weakness and limitation.

All of this, from his first encounter with an odd, overlooked art film - a film full of horror, discomforting human behavior, and lacking any satisfying resolution.

That's what art can do, when the artist is careful to serve the audience, even with discomforting representations. For those who watch with discretion and discernment, horror can reveal our limitations, and inspire us to seek, to find, to grow.