Go See "God Grew Tired of Us"

I've just seen the first film of the year that will be on my Favorites of 2007 list at the end of the year.

God Grew Tired of Us tells a heartbreaking, awe-inspiring story, and it does so with energy, attentiveness, efficiency, and a surprising amount of humor. There is also a knockout punch at the end that will fill theaters with the smell of fresh tears.Read more


What's Your Favorite Christian Radio Show? Favorite Christian Podcast?

What's your favorite Christian radio show?

Favorite Christian podcast?Read more


"Bridge to Terabithia" and author Katherine Paterson

Walden Media's upcoming adventure Bridge to Terabithia looks intriguing. I haven't read Paterson's work yet, but an interview she did for Books and Culture several years ago has stuck with me because of the passionate way she spoke about the role of the Christian artist...

Access to the full article requires a subscription to the CT library (an investment that will reward you above and beyond your expectations, by the way).

But here's a clip (reprinted with permission from John Wilson, editor of Books and Culture):

"Novelists write out of their deepest selves," [Paterson] says. "Whatever is there in them comes out willy-nilly, and it is not a conscious act on their part. If I were to consciously say, 'This book shall now be a Christian book,' then the act would become conscious and not out of myself. It would either be a very peculiar thing to do -- like saying, 'I shall now be humble' -- or it would be simple propaganda."

She leans forward and speaks quickly now to dispel some of the connotations of the word. "Propaganda occurs when a writer is directly trying to persuade, and in that sense, propaganda is not bad. When I think of Who Am I? (1992), I think of propaganda. But persuasion is not story, and when you try to make a story out of persuasion then you've done something wrong to the story. You've violated the essence of what a story is."

Here she had spoken with none of the easy laughter of earlier. I ask, "Would you then say that you are a Christian writer?" expecting her to quail at the label.

But she does not, and the laughter returns. "A Christian first," she says. "I have a vocation as a writer; that is my calling. But a Christian first."

Sometime about now I remember to turn on the tape recorder. Here we are at the heart of Katherine Paterson as a writer: The Christian given the vocation of writing, and called to write about the radical biblical hope that lies in her deepest self.

But there is no greater irony about Katherine Paterson's work than the fact that it is so frequently -- one might almost use the word consistently -- attacked and censored by Christian groups. And there seem to be so many problematic scenes from which to choose. Jess and Leslie pray to imaginary gods in Bridge to Terabithia (1977). Takiko not only returns home with her stepfather at the end of Of Nightingales That Weep (1974), but marries him and has a child in the novel's joyous climax. Come Sing, Jimmy Jo (1985) has a mother who fools around -- even, perhaps, with her husband's brother; in Park's Quest (1988) it is the father who has had an illegitimate child while on duty in Vietnam.

And there is Gilly Hopkins, whose surname comes from one of the poets Paterson most admires. The Great Gilly Hopkins (1978) is one of the most frequently attacked of her books. It is about a child who seems about as far from her Tolkienesque namesake Galadriel as might be possible. She lies and steals. She deceives and manipulates. She is not above a fistfight, and neither is she averse to anonymous racial slurs. And she swears. Creatively. This would hardly seem to be the book for the Christian home or church library. Many, many Christian readers have been at pains to point this out.

"If you want to look for the most openly Christian book I have written," Katherine explains now, "it isn't Jip. I think it's The Great Gilly Hopkins. My commitment as a writer is to be honest, and I have to be honest all the time, not just when every character behaves well and doesn't cuss. A novel concerned with sin and redemption will have real characters, and there are real characters who lie and steal and cuss." In fact, The Great Gilly Hopkins is a retelling of the parable of the Prodigal Son, and, she explains, you need to be with the son at the hog trough if you want to be with him when he is welcomed home.


From Christianity Today's Review of "Through a Screen Darkly"

So... tonight I learned that Christianity Today reviewed Through a Screen Darkly three weeks ago, and I didn't know about it until today! How did I miss that? Kind of strange, considering I write for them. But, well... wow! Cool!

Many thanks to Eric Miller for this generous, surprising review. Here are a couple of excerpts...Read more


A Conversation with Darren Aronofsky, Director of The Fountain

[This interview was originally published at Christianity Today on November 20, 2006.]


In Darren Aronofsky's ambitious, unusual science fiction film The Fountain (opening Friday), a husband must come to terms with his wife's mortality. As Tom watches Izzy suffer the debilitating effects of a growing brain tumor, he leads a frantic scientific endeavor to find a cure. But she responds differently, chronicling her feelings in a historical novel about the queen of Spain.

Both their daily reality and the novel reflect humankind's longing for the Tree of Life, the source of eternal life described in Genesis. And their varying responses reveal humankind's tendency to respond to death in fear and panic, rather than seeking a spiritual path to peace.

For Aronofsky, the project was deeply personal, a passion that led him to multiple attempts to get the film made. But he made it, and cast his own true love—Rachel Weisz—in the role of Izzy, opposite Hugh Jackman as Tom. The project is unique in its depiction of a passionate marriage and a spiritual struggle. And it reveals an artist who is deeply dismayed at the direction the world is going, and who wants us to come to a deeper understanding of the ties that bind us, and our responsibility to the world we've been given.

Some filmmakers portray marriage as bondage, but The Fountain shows us an admirable marriage. Tom and Izzy are really in love, they're faithful, and they support each other through hard times.

Darren Aronofsky: We definitely have gotten disconnected from what a relationship between two people can mean. That's because of all the temptations that are out there. Everything's a little all out of whack. But, The Fountain, to me, is a very, very romantic film. Romantic with a big capital "R."

It's about two people who love each other deeply, and yet a terrible thing is happening to one of them—or, actually, to both of them—because one is dying at such a tragic young age.

What led you to focus on the mysteries of death so intently?

Aronofsky: I started working on it when I turned thirty. I think when you turn thirty, it's the first time that your mortality comes into any sort of focus. When you're in your twenties, you're still sort of carefree. When you turn thirty, there's something about that number. You suddenly realize, one day I will be forty-five, and one day I will be seventy-five.

At the same time, both of my parents faced a fight with cancer. They were diagnosed within a month of each other, with different cancers. To suddenly be their caretaker in a certain way, and to be concerned about losing them, it really shook me up a bit. They've both been healthy now, for three or four years.

Both Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz had to perform some intense, emotional scenes, as Izzy and Tom deal with her brain tumor. How did they prepare for that?

Aronofsky: Rachel did a lot of research. She went to a lot of hospices, met people who were dying at a tragically young age, and talked to a lot of doctors. I think it got to her in a way that she didn't necessarily share with me. That's part of her [acting] process. I think she was really thinking about what Izzy was going through, and that's a heavy place for a healthy young woman to go.

What did Rachel, and the rest of you, learn from that research?

Aronofsky: When Rachel, Hugh, and I started to go out and meet young people who were dying, we talked to some of their doctors and caregivers. And what we found was just mind-blowing. A lot of these caregivers told us that they had started to have a spiritual [experience]. Death was happening in front of them, and they started to change.

Unfortunately, our culture doesn't have a way to understand and accept death as a spiritual act. We basically have no vocabulary or language to help anyone understand what is happening to them [when they die]. The families of these dying people would completely turn the opposite direction and start fighting it, basically telling their loved ones "You gotta fight! You gotta keep going!" Then, their hope became something that actually started to hurt the relationship. And the result was that a lot of these young people who were actually finding grace ended up dying even more alone because their families became so detached.

That tragedy, to me, became the core emotional story of The Fountain, because I found it so sad and so tragic.

So, The Fountain is a story about learning to accept death as "a spiritual act"?

Aronofsky: I think it has to do with the sanctity of life. The Bible says that the Creator sent Adam and Eve out of the Garden [and they could not] eat from the Tree of Life. The question is, what would have happened if they ate from the Tree of Life? Mortality is part of our humanity; it's what makes us beautiful. And unfortunately we've lost touch with what it means to be mortal.

In many ways it's about science versus art, and religion versus spirituality. You have these [scientific and religious] dogmas that are the languages of a certain type of discovery, but beneath that you have a certain type of acceptance and truth.

Izzy's character is leaning more toward acceptance [of death] … and Tom's character is using the scientific method to fight it. At times, these two methods rub against each other. I think the story is about Tom learning to accept, learning to live in the moment, and learning to accept life and death to the fullest.

But you're not saying it's a bad thing, or a futile pursuit, to employ science for the purpose of prolonging life and fighting disease, are you? Can Tom be both a medical researcher and enlightened?

Aronofsky: I think it's about balance. Clearly science and technology have done amazing things. They prolong life, and they prolong the quality of life. We have people in their seventies and eighties living such a full life that it's inspirational. But, I think there comes a certain disconnect at a certain point. Because of the success of science, there's this hubris that we can fix everything. But we can't, because death is a certainty. Without death, we're not really human.

I had a 93-year-old grandmother who had a heart attack, and they tried to resuscitate her three times. I think there's a certain brutality to that. It's like they don't want anybody to die on their watch, or something like that.

All three of your films are about characters striving to escape suffering and reach some higher plane, whether through drugs or mathematics or science. Do you think audiences are ready for something this ambitious?

Aronofsky: It's a very spiritual movie, and I think that there'd be a lot of people in all religious communities that could have reaction to it— especially in the Christian community, because there's a major Judeo-Christian foundation to the film.

What was interesting to me was this: At the core of so many different religions is the spiritual truth which unites us all. It's just amazing when you look at the Judeo-Christian/Islamic foundation in Genesis about the two trees in the Garden of Eden—the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life—and man and woman ate from the Tree of Knowledge and were basically banned from Eden. They could no longer eat from the Tree of Life.

You think about that, and then you go to the Mayan tradition. Think about how separate the Jews were from the Mayans! They were separated by, who knows, thousands of years—and yet, the Mayans tell a story about "a first father," an Adam, who had to make a sacrifice for the Tree of Life.

To me, that's amazing that there's this unity of spiritual sense between many of the faiths. I think that there is something that makes us all human. From all our different faiths and beliefs, there is something that connects us.

There seems to be a theme in many films right now, from Code Unknown to Crash to Babel—an increasing focus on the idea that some kind of fundamental connection has been broken.

Aronofsky: I buy it. I think we live in a very critical time. Every plastic bottle of drinking water that we've produced is going to be around for 10,000 years, at the minimum. We've basically poisoned our oceans and ripped down our forests. We've taken a huge chunk out of the planet. And we're still playing the same old game of killing each other, and being the only species on the planet that just basically wipes each other out off the planet.

We know that there's 16,000 different species that are on the endangered list, and that's all because of human pressure. We're basically destroying our Creator's, uh, Eden. All of us believe that there's something amazing and something beautiful about this creation, yet here we are just totally shredding it and destroying it. It's really, really mixed up and messed up. We've really lost our way.

As far as I can see, we're just continuing down this path. And now, as a new father, I look at my son and I think about my grandchildren, and I know they're gonna look back on my generation and say, "What were you people thinking?" They'll just have incredible disdain for what we did in the twentieth century to the planet and to each other.

So, as a filmmaker and a storyteller, I've got to try and tell stories that reconnect us to each other and to the planet.

So, in view of that human tendency to destroy, what is The Fountain showing us?

Aronofsky: The big message of The Fountain is a message of recycling.

It's called The Fountain because a fountain basically sucks out from below, shoots it up on the air, it goes back into the earth, and goes around in a cycle. Even a tree is very much a fountain that moves extremely slowly: It grows up and up out of the earth, the leaves come out, the leaves die and fall down, they go back into the soil, and the tree comes back alive again.

And, for me, that circle, that rotating circle of energy and matter, is endless. It stretches all the way back to the beginning of time.

The whole "Big Bang," the scientific theory of how we've evolved, and the question of whether or not there is a Creator—it doesn't matter to me. I thinkThe Fountain is open to all of that. All of our energy and all of our matter comes from something before us. It's the old "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," idea that we go back to the earth and then something else comes out of it. I don't think it affects how you look at Heaven or Hell, or reincarnation, or whichever religious belief you come from. I worked really hard in The Fountain not to get in the way of that. I just wanted people to see that we're part of this long, lasting cycle stretching back all the way to the Big Bang.


Eugene Peterson's "Eat This Book" ... and Moviegoing

I am finding Eugene Peterson's Eat This Book to be a particularly inspiring meditation on our need to read, taste, chew, and digest the Bible.And along the way, I am thunderstruck by how often the points Peterson is making about how we should read scripture run parallel what I've tried to convey about how we should attend to art.

I've just read a section on the power and essentiality of storytelling. (p. 40)

Check this out:

Honest stories respect our freedom; they don't manipulate us, don't force us, don't distract us from life.

Great. Reminds me of the way I recognize a great movie.

And then he says:

Not all stories, of course, are honest. There are sentimentalizing stories that seduce us into escaping from life; there are propagandistic stories that attempt to enlist us in a cause or bully us into a stereotyped response; there are trivializing stories that represent life as merely cute or diverting.

Wow. He just said in one paragraph what I took pages to explore in my examination of different kinds of "dishonest" filmmaking.

Then he says:

The Christian life requires a form adequate to its content, a form that is at home in the Christian revelation and that respects each person's dignity and freedom with plenty of room for all our quirks and particularities.

There's a whole discussion waiting to happen, just from that quote. "A form adequate to its content." He's talking about the Christian life, but let me tell you... if more Christian artists came to understand that the form of their work is as important as the content, we would have a new rennaissance of artmaking.
I don't know how many times I've received emails in which someone has protested my critique of a mediocre "Christian movie" or "Christian music" saying, "But Jeff, your focus is in the wrong place. It doesn't matter how good the art is so long as the message is good." Wrong. If we package the message in mediocrity, we show it disrespect, and worse, we make it unappealing to those we would desire as an audience.

The form and structure of the Bible is awe-inspiring. The forms and structure of God's creation... from the ocean to the human body to a hummingbird... are awe-inspiring, excellent, beautiful, and meaningful. In the same way, great art lasts and speaks to us because of its excellence. And there is no art more lasting and powerful than great art inspired by, and reflecting back, God's Word. In fact, the meaning of great art and the excellence of great art are inseparable. They are very much the same thing.


Blog Sightings!

Mentions of Through a Screen Darkly are popping up online.

I'm going to keep track of this, partly because I'm curious to see where the book lands, and what happens when it does. And, partly because... well... I wrote the book in hopes that it would inspire further conversation about the power of movies, the rewards of movies, and the dangers of movies. If that conversation's gonna happen, I want to be there.Read more


Musing About the Joy of Books

I'm hearing from folks all over the country that their copies of Through a Screen Darkly are arriving in the mail.

Isn't it strange? You can write about anything on the Internet, and it can be read all over the world instantly. But if you put it on paper, and it takes days for it to arrive somewhere in the mail, suddenly everybody agrees that it's a reason to celebrate!

The Internet is great, but as far as I'm concerned... books are still the best mode of reading. When you hold the book, turn the page, and have the whole thing in a lasting package that can be handed on from one person to the next, one generation to the next... and you can mark things and highlight things... that's something special.Read more


A Piece of the Front Cover

This is the work of an artist named Kristopher Orr. Wait until you see the illustration he's crafted that goes with it...Read more


Crosswalk's Christian Hamaker on "Pan's Labyrinth"

I went to see Pan's Labyrinth a second time last week, and was completely blown away. I nudged it up a notch on my Top 25 of 2006 (breaking the tie with Children of Men). And I'm considering bumping it up another step. It is magnificent.

Anne (who I married partly because she has the most impressive fantasy-lit library I've ever seen, and she loves fairy tales more than almost any grownup I know) loved it too. And so did our good friend Wayne Proctor, with whom I've discussed the glories of fantasy storytelling since we collaborated on a fantasy novel as college roommates way back in 1992.

It's becoming one of those films I want to share with those I love.

And it looks like Christian Hamaker, film critic for Crosswalk, is catching the same fever. Check this out:

“Pan’s Labyrinth” is a fairy tale full of magic. In some Christian circles, fairies are thought to be part of the occult and any form of magic is viewed as a dark art. Fantasy films, therefore, have had a hard time connecting with some discerning Christians who are on guard against depictions of evil dressed up as good. We know that spiritual counterfeits abound in this world, and God commands us to be on guard against beings who appear to be good, but who disguise darker motives. The “Harry Potter” series and “The Golden Compass” books are examples of popular imaginative works that find heavy criticism (but also praise, at least in the case of “Harry Potter”) from many in the Christian community. “Pan’s Labyrinth,” with its blend of mythic storytelling and potent Christian symbolism, is sure to stir further controversy among Christians.

So let me end with a personal statement about this movie, which moved me deeply. As someone who has problems with the “Harry Potter” stories, and who won’t go near “The Golden Compass” stories based on what I know of them, I can only offer a humbly stated but wildly enthusiastic endorsement of “Pan’s Labyrinth.” As an original piece of visual and verbal storytelling, it’s a marvel, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Its images are strange and, at times, frightening, but I found its message of strength through sacrifice deeply spiritual and profoundly Christian.

“Pan’s Labyrinth” is a movie to treasure. They just don’t make ’em like this. If you choose to see it, I think you’ll agree.

Elsewhere, J. Robert Parks admires it as well. But not as much as he admired Del Toro's previous historical fantasy, The Devil's Backbone. (His review of that is here.)