City Lights

Last week I had the privilege of writing for Reel World Theology about one of my absolute favourite films, Charlie Chaplin's City Lights. It was a challenge to capture what makes this flat out masterpiece so timelessly beautiful. Check out the original post here, which includes links to scenes from the movie. I've included a slightly edited version of the review below. Whatever you do, take the time to watch City Lights.

Although I’ve included a few clips from City Lights, I highly recommend watching the entire 87 minute film. It moves quickly, is remarkably approachable (even to those unfamiliar with older and silent films), and available in numerous editions on YouTube, as well as through Criterion’s splendid restoration. 

The story of our world is that of a comedy. I don’t mean comedy in the modern sense of the word, a story filled with humour and laughs. I refer to its older meaning, the meaning used by Dante, that of a story ending in joy, rather than grief.  This understanding is distinctly Christian, for we are to view the world through the lens of the Great Story of All Time, communicated to us by the Bible; a story filled with grief that ultimately ends in the greatest joy imaginable. 

Charlie Chaplin’s masterpiece, City Lights, mirrors this ultimate comedy. It is a story aware of grief, yet ending in great joy. But it is also a comedy in the traditional sense of the word, a supremely funny film. Chaplin, repeating his signature role as the Tramp, seems to always arrive in the right place at the wrong time. He sleeps in the arms of a civic statue, awkwardly ruining its grand unveiling. He tries to admire the art in a shop window, only to walk into an open manhole. He wanders out to the docks at night, where a drunk millionaire attempts a suicide right in front of his eyes, avoiding death only after Chaplin’s desperate measures to keep him alive. Finally, after all these apparent mishaps, a situation occurs that better suits the Tramp, when a blind flower girl, whose beauty smites him, mistakes Chaplin for a wealthy millionaire. 

The rest of the film follows Chaplin’s encounters with these two characters. At night, the indebted rich man takes the Tramp out on the town, where hilarious mayhem follows his every move. With a gracefulness despite scenes of ridiculous, frantic circumstances, Chaplin dances with the wrong lady, swallows a whistle down his throat, and mistakes the twirling streamers at a party with his plate of spaghetti. His response to this mayhem is a sort of bashful innocence. In the face of injustices and confusion, the Tramp carries on, smiling and enjoying what is offered him. In his mind, he deserves nothing, so anything he gets is a gift. 

But during the sober light of day, the rich man, forgetting the previous night’s drama, kicks the Tramp out of his mansion. Chaplin responds by visiting the flower girl’s apartment, where he impresses her with both his mistaken wealth and his genuine kindness. It is here that he learns of the girl’s debt and its impending consequences, as well as a doctor whose operation could cure her blindness. Desperate to save her from ruin and restore her sight, Chaplin doggedly pursues various employments in an attempt to raise the funds on time. A career as street sweeper is ruined by his frequent visits to her apartment, and a last minute effort to earn the money in a prize fight results in one of cinema’s all-time funniest sequences, graced by both Chaplin’s nimble feet and a light-footed musical score (composed by the star himself.)

In the end, his efforts failed and the debt’s deadline fast approaching, the tramp runs into millionaire, drunk again and eager to welcome Chaplin back into his home. The rich man gladly gives Chaplin money for both the girl’s debt and her surgery. The Tramp delivers this gift to the delighted girl, sparing not a single bill for himself.  But, in a cruel finale, echoing the frequent role reversals of the story, Chaplin is mistaken for a thief that had robbed the mansion and is locked in jail by the authorities. 

Already at this point in the film, there has been more than enough to stir our hearts. The Tramp’s wholehearted generosity and self-sacrificial love to his beloved echoes, if only dimly, that of our Redeemer’s. His undemanding spirit in the face of confusing circumstances has much to teach us on the believer’s attitude to our changing situations. The way that the rich man, despite his debt to the ragged tramp, regularly fails to recognize him or honour him, reminds me of our frequent condition of spiritual amnesia. But these themes find their climax in the film’s powerful resolution, the most powerful ending I have ever seen.

The Tramp, now released from prison, is completely desolate, a shadow of the man we’ve previously seen. His face is gaunt and his clothes are in rags, leaving him now, at last, truly alone on the city streets, mocked or ignored by all who pass him. He stoops by a window, picking up an abandoned flower. The window happens to belong to the girl, who is now restored to sight and the owner of a respectable flower shop. We learn that she is always seeking the return of her benefactor, wondering if every rich man that comes into her shop is him. Chaplin looks through the window and directly into her face. He lights up when he sees her, until he realizes that she has no way of recognizing him. 

The girl assumes that this is just a poor stranger struck by her beauty. “I have made a conquest!” her title card declares, and she kindly offers him a single flower, along with a coin. But the Tramp just continues to smile out of love, basking in the sight of her face, the petals of his ruined flower falling one by one out of his hand. Bashful, he turns to leave, but the girl, dashing out the door, catches his hand and places the coin in it. Suddenly, her look changes to one of clarity and recognition, even horror. Her heightened sense of touch has recognized what her eyes did not. Her redeemer is standing right in front of her, but he is not who she was expecting. Any former illusions of grander are stripped away. She has seen him at last for who he truly is. 

“You?” she asks through the title card. The Tramp, his face wound tight with expectation and hope, eagerly nods. Her face falls. He lover is not a rich man who will sweep her away, but a lowly tramp. Chaplin gestures to the eyes. “You can see now?” asks his title card, a simple question filled with double meaning. Her face is marked with disappointment and sorrow, and she confirms. “Yes, I can see now.” The tension is unbearable. Will she accept him for who he is? Will she love him, like he loved her? Everything in the story hinges on this moment. All of the pretending has been stripped away. 

Slowly, she takes his hand and clutches it to her breast. For an instant, she smiles; then the camera switches to a tight crop of the Tramps face. As doubt departs, his face breaks open into a smile of pure joy, an expression so intense that the screen quickly fades to black and the film ends. Fixing our eyes on such joy any longer than what was permitted would be too unbearable this side of heaven.

Do we recognize our Beloved? When He returns, will we see Him for who He is? Or are our eyes blinded to the reality of the joy we are invited to enter, joy like that of the Tramps face? City Lights, (aptly subtitled “A Comedy Romance”) is a reorienting film, a film of remarkable clarity for us who need such clarity so desperately. It refreshes us with laughter, reminds us of grace, and restores our vision of joy.

The Good Dinosaur (2015)

I've been asked by the folks at Reel World Theology to contribute a film review from time to time. It's been over a year since I've written in-depth about the movies so I was happy to oblige with a review of Pixar's latest, The Good Dinosaur. Below are a couple paragraphs to wet your appetite before you read the entire review.

"As someone who grew up shouldered by the Rocky Mountains, next to towns where Unforgiven and Brokeheart Mountain were shot, I recognized the landscape captured so well; the deep blues and greens of mountain river waters, the dusty greys of its sandy silt, and the glorious oranges of the virgin birch forest. I also recognized the dangerous menace of the quickly approaching mountain storm, as well as the haunting vastness of the wilderness. Whenever I travel into the mountains I return refreshed and in awe—of something, or Someone, who is far greater than me. Something untamed. Such is true in this movie too.

In The Good Dinosaur, this wildness (call it creation or call it nature) is the main character. Everyone and everything else is just the backdrop. I left as refreshed by this scenery as I do when I visit the real mountains, or when I watch films like The Thin Red Line, The Lord of the Rings trilogy, or the 1978 animation of Watership Down. These movies are alive to wonder and aware of terror and The Good Dinosaur joins their ranks."

Read the whole review and then, if you've seen the film, let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

Boyhood Again!

As critics and fans continue to add to what is now a flurry of top 10 2014 lists, well deserved buzz over Richard Linklater's Boyhood is only growing. This week it was released on iTunes, giving me the perfect opportunity to share a link to what is my first published review.

In partnership with Steelbook and Mondo's release of their stunning special edition of Boyhood, I was asked to write a review of the film for Hi-Def Ninja, who announced this special release. Here is an except of the review:

“If you spend three hours in a movie theatre, you are typically watching an epic concerned with a hero’s efforts to halt an impending catastrophic demise of our planet. Spending three hours instead learning the complexities of a fellow human’s growth to adulthood is a welcome change. And yet BOYHOOD never loses pace or becomes dull. Our time with Mason and family is rewarded in what is an unexpectedly funny film. Our laughter is not just a laughter over the situations and banter, but is instead a laughter of recognition. We have been in their shoes. We’ve had that fight with our sibling, that first day in new school, or that awkward conversation with our teenage son. But we have also shared the excitement of a first crush or the recognition that you can now talk with your son as an adult. BOYHOOD is alerting us to the joy of the ordinary; the mundane special that is all around us, so easy to miss.”

Head over to Hi-Def Ninja to read the entire piece and do take a look at the beautiful work Steelbook and Mondo put into this release. It was huge honour to be part of this project. Stay tuned for further work from me in partnership with these companies!

Boyhood (2014)

I expected to be impressed by director Richard Linklater latest film Boyhood. Who else but the director of the Before Trilogy, a twenty year experiment in long-term character development, would have the audacious patience to assemble a cast and film for 12 years the story of a boy and his family growing up? But I did not expect such joy. A growing smile enlarged into a full-on grin which remained on my face for film’s duration. As the film tracks the life of young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) and his family, we laugh, not just because the situations and banter are funny but because we recognize similar situations. The film is alerting us to the joy of the ordinary, the mundane special that is all around us, so easy to miss. 

One would assume such a landmark film to portray an ideal American family, but instead Mason and his sister Sam, (Lorelei Linklater) live with their single mom (Patricia Arquette). Their father (perfectly cast Ethan Hawke) is out of the picture and the pain this separation has on the kids is sensitively handled from their perspective. As weekend trips with Dad are balanced with school, video games, and bike rides with friends, their mom’s progressing career and education, adopted parents, and domestic abuse enter their story. Such difficult and complicated themes are not tucked away, but neither do they become the film’s focus. 

Part of Boyhood’s appeal is watching this family grow up before us, each character making decisions and changing, not just in hair styles and facial structures, but as people. Mason and his dad grow closer then we might have originally guessed, friends come and go with surprising transience, skills and interests foster, fumble, and achieve success, and daily choices turn into personal characteristics. Like the darkroom negative that Mason develops in high school, this boy is turning into a man before our very eyes.

But this film is not just about Mason. Each family member could be closely study, and I was especially fascinated by his Mom. At the beginning, she is not much too look at and, being an educated single parent, would likely never amount to much. And yet she pulls herself up out of poverty “for her kids sake,” earning several degrees, a noble pursuit that we applaud. By the time Mason is a teenager she is teaching college physiology and hosting dinner parties for students, the picture of modern success. Towards the end of the film, Mason is packing up for college and his Mom breaks into tears. Her sorrow is not in her son’s departure, as we’d come to expect from so many similar scenes in movies. Instead she grieves over her departing glory days, the fading of her youth, and the mortality of her success and achievements.  “I’m getting old” she cries, “and all I have to show for it are mortgages, reminders of divorce, and a house full of clutter.” Her life’s focus has been exposed as a self-centred striving after the wind. 

We see, in less then three hours, a beautiful time-lapse image of what it meant to grow up in my era. So many scenes rang true, yet I was struck by how different my boyhood was. I’m not referring to the video games I didn’t play or the alcohol and locker room dramas I didn’t experience. I’m thinking of my parents; my mum sacrificing her career for the unglamorous work of raising her offspring at home, my dad making the care of his son’s soul his priority.

But to come away from theatre boasting in my own privileged upbringing would be to completely miss the point, blind to the wonders of this film. Boyhood’s gift is its empathy, and this empathy includes an understanding of my peer’s experiences and a realization of what we have in common. This modern life and all of its complexities are here on display in a grand miniature. We are invited to leave wiser in the ways of the modern man and filled with thanksgiving for the good gifts we all share.

Snowpiercer (2013)

The year is 2031. Seventeen years prior a worldwide attempt at cooling the earth to prevent global warning failed, plunging the planet into freezing ice. All infrastructure, culture, and civilization is now lost in an icy expanse, with the exception of a train that continuously circles the globe. In this train are the remains humanity, structured into strict classes where the rich dwell in the train’s front, living off the poor and ratty unfortunates who dwell in the train’s tail. 

Clearly such a story is shot through with allegorical implications. The director, an ever innovative Korean named Joon-ho Bong, acknowledges this by fully embracing the representational world, sweeping us away with the completely realized costumes and detailed grit and grime, all captured by claustrophobic camera work. The people living at the back of the train daily suffer from injustice. As they become more desperate they begin a revolution, breaking out of their guarded tailend, led by a stern faced Chris Evans, a lively and witty Jamie Bell, and a couple of other motley ordinaries on a last-ditch effort to claim the engine and confront the owner of the train. As they proceed up the train and its compartment’s are opened one by one, they are met by the bureaucrats and their armies of axe welding soldiers, commanded by bizarrely costumed but perfectly convincing Tilda Swinton.  The resulting conflicts are brutally violent, blade on flesh and metal on blood, like so much of our civilization’s history. 

The story, like the train, plunges ahead full throttle. It delights in surprising us as compartment after compartment are opened by the rebels revealing deadly twists and surprising turns. Main characters are killed off and minor characters become unexpectedly important. And as the movie hurtles towards its conclusion, we are left on the edge of our seat. How will it end and what vision of the world will it leave us with?

The train itself, containing all this is left of this world, becomes a compelling microcosm of the film’s view of reality. The train, and with it, all life, resides on a fixed track, hurtling along at a breakneck speed making an outside existence impossible. Its inhabitance focus on their misery or the distractions of their life but the few who glimpse the outside of the train see only hopelessness, a canvas bleak, chilling, and inescapable, who's inhabitants are “dead, all dead.” Ever and always the noise of the locomotive can be discerned, a daily reminder of its inhabitants vulnerability, sometimes grinding in the background, sometimes clanging and shaking.

It is a bleak and despairing worldview, but it does take keen interest in its inhabitants, their existence, and their reasons for life. We could argue that the story paints a picture of a cruel God, grinding away at an eternal engine, pushing his cold doctrine through a brainwashed power structure.

But the film’s ending succeeds in surprising us, with both a twist and a heart. Listen closely as the population’s only hope tells a story of his people’s early days. Recognize the sacrifice and personal cost in that story and see how this heart of compassion for the least of these becomes a key to the climax of the film. Compassion, in a world as depraved is what is depicted here, holds a gleam of potential light and with it, hope. 

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014)

Summer blockbusters seam intent to satisfy crowds looking for low mental output and high octane thrills, but rarely do they leave the viewer with anything more enduring than a headache and more thought provoking than a love triangle. And so summers find contemplative viewers in small theatres seeking independent jewels. But when these viewers wants to talk intelligently about movies to anyone outside of the five audience members present at the indie theatre, Transformers 4 and Sex Tape don’t offer much fodder. But just when such hopelessness confronts us, along comes a smart blockbuster like Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, a film popular, exciting, and thought-provoking.

This movie is not called Dawn of the Planet of the Humans and Apes, so from its very title we know that things do not look well for the humans who have survived the devastating simian flue. The evolved ape community will rule and our race will be exterminated. We just don’t know how, so we watch the nervous interaction between the new ape civilization in the Redwood Forest and the struggling humans in ruined San Francisco with incredibly high stakes. Minor decisions are being made and any one of them could be the spark that sets the inevitable bonfire of war alight.

This simmering tension is sustained by a musical score that, like the film, is both interesting and heartfelt. The cinematography is not content to to let us just sit back and partake in the action, instead it throws us in headfirst with angles that surprise and engage the viewer. And it's a major accomplishment that we grow to care for and understand the apes as equally as the film’s humans. Part of this is due to to the completely believable worlds that are built, both the rising ape culture and the ruined San Francisco.  And a large portion of credit goes to the astonishing work of Andy Serkis and his fellow ape actors. The audience develops a deep emotional resonance with their civilization but the remaining humans are not ignored. Instead, the uniqueness and preciousness of human life is acknowledged, especially in light of the oncoming disaster.  One might argue that there is less depth to the human characters, but I would say that since we are unfamiliar with the apes, the extra time spent with them is well proportioned. 

Watching this movie will inevitably spark deep discussions. I would suggest that there are two conclusions we can walk away with. The first is the importance of a rooted understanding of what makes someone human. If humans are not made in the image of God, ethical decisions between apes and animals and lower life life or higher life loose their footing. But as sketchy as this ground is, I think Dawn of the Planet of the Apes deserves more praise than criticism for its ontological understanding, if we suspend our belief and acknowledge that the apes are humans. And that is the second conclusion. Fo even in an ideal community like that of the apes, war is inevitable. Someone is going pick the forbidden fruit, disobey the given rules, and fire the shot that will begin the collapse. The minor moral choices we make have great weight because their consequences are brutal.

Finding a movie that strikes us with these truths in such a fresh and thought provoking way is rare. Coupled with a story that is thrilling, special effects so effortlessly believable, and a world rendered with both explosive terror and and quite sadness, we have a summer blockbuster to be proud of. 

Tracks (2013)

This review was originally written in June 2014. The images are from the film and are not my own. 

People are conflicting, confounding, and confusing. Our interactions with them reveal a fundamental problem with our very core. Some of us try to ignore confronting this problem by distractions. Others bury it in resentment. A few take a more desperate action, what some might call crazy but what could actually be an honest response to the predicament. Robyn Davidson (Mia Wasikowska) was one of these people, a spirited young Australian who was inspired and driven to do a feat that had everyone shaking their heads. Her goal: walk across the Australian outback by herself, using four camels and accompanied only by her dog.

Of course, a film like this has to be based on a true story, first recorded in a 1978 National Geographic article and later a book by Davidson. And like any episodic travel film, there are challenges that come with such a territory. The film tackles these challenges in a frustrating mixture of half heartedness and visual creativity. The half heartedness came from attempting to check off the boxes we expect in a film about such a wilderness journey; Robyn loosing her compass, or being attached by the wild bull camels, or getting to know the local aboriginals. Another challenge is the recurring scenery, but here the photography prevailed, finding creative ways to show the austerity of the desert, focusing on its shadows, its negative space, its heat and its whiteness.

But even if this territory felt flat, the grace and grit of Mia Wasikowska’s character holds and sustains our interest. Robyn is fascinating. Why would this slender willow of a woman tackle such a harsh landscape, peppered with such harsh people? Wasikowska’s face holds continued appeal as she attempts to read the people and environments she throws herself into. We are aware of every slimmer of loathing and longing that battle within her.

For it is people that she is trying to escape from, almost to prove that she is tough enough to be without those who betrayed her in the past. She tries to avoid those who pry into the curiosity of her journey. She shuns people who follow her, seeking to be alone with her animals But Robyn soon finds that a journey like hers requires the support of people. People to her train her camels, people to guide her during the roughest territory, and people to provide funding. And it is because of their contribution to this funding, National Geographic sends along Rick Smolan, played with a charming awkwardness by Adam Driver. Robyn dislikes him, for genuine reasons. He is pries too much and nearly ruins sections of her journey. He is annoying but can not be ignored.

In the end, when the animals she loves dearest are taken from her, Robyn cracks under the weight of loneliness. The arid, white desert that she wanders through is empty and void of humanity and the few humans she encounters treat her like an oddity. As she continues her solitary quest, a sort of shock sets in. In one scene Robyn sets huddled under the blackness of the outback, her terrified eyes and sunburnt face illuminated only by her fire. Out of the darkness comes a stranger, talking cheerfully yet unceasingly, his face shrouded in a racing helmet, bright as clown’s. “F*ck man, it's cold out here” he drawls, warming his hands by her fire. She is terrified of his harmless appearance and as he leaves his statement rings with truth. This world and its inhabitants are cold.

And yet there is something that can overcome this coldness and loneliness that accompanies it. There is a kindness that breaks through, persistent despite Robyn’s retreat. Strangers, themselves alone in this wilderness, take her in and offer her fellowship. Others, putting their own needs behind, guide her through the toughest sections of her journey. And one in particular goes out of his way to provide for her needs and celebrate her successes. It is this kindness that stands out against the harshness of the world and reveals the glimmer of hope still offered.

Godzilla (2014): A Capsule Review

This review was originally written in June 2014. The images are from the film and are not my own.

Genre films can be so boring. Superheros, bumps in the dark, cowboys pointing guns, they have become so much of a template that Hollywood can spit them out with more fanfare and twice as much sticky ooze as EasyBake cooking projects from my childhood. As result, moviegoers looking for visual creativity and thematic interest have learned to look elsewhere. 

But now and then we come across a creative visionary who takes this cookie cutter predictability and turns it into a challenge. In such a chef’s hands a genre  film, by very nature of its familiarity, can be used to say interesting things in interesting ways. Enter indie film darling Gareth Edwards. Entrusted with a Hollywood budget, we have a Godzilla to take note of.

There is a creativity in this film that was unexpected. It contains a storyline that includes all of the major points (MONSTER FIGHTS! NUCLEAR SECRETS! CITIES DESTROYED!) but it had me guessing how he would get us there for the majority of its duration.

But even more appreciated was the way the camera introduces us to its world. There is repeated theme of windows and reflections - characters observing tragedy through a literal window, a window like frame accenting other scenes, and the window of a television used to provide a new angle on the action. But the camera is also aware of the vast space of this canvas and uses this space to full effect. A chameleon crawls on the jungle floor, a foreshadower of a much larger scaly creature. The camera pans beachgoers on vacation before it leads our eye to to the destruction in the distance hills.

These clever entries lead us directly to the “holy sh*t!” moments of scale and terror, making such moments all the more memorable. Equally impressive is the colour language at work (the Dante like scene of the paratroopers descending into the dust and ruin being a favourite).

In addition to being creatively realized, this movie also uses the familiar themes of a monster film to explore serious questions on man’s seeming power to control things. Their is a careful balance at work. Military power is shown to be necessary and important and yet futile in the face of such higher powers, much like the way such power is depicted in the Old Testament.

The portrayal of Godzilla is of a great being to be feared, that leaves your city in tatters but, more importantly, alive, that conquers enemies at great cost to himself, leaving you humbled with the knowledge that, with such a creature alive the deep, your are never quite safe, never quite in control. It’s a biblical image that is rare to find in the blockbuster. There is a sacrifice and a brutality woven into the nature of universe.

It’s a shame that the human characters are so flat compared to such crackling brilliance. If we had something to latch onto in them this would of been a blockbuster for our generation.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013): A Capsule Review

This capsule review was originally published in May 2014. The images are from the film and are not my own.

Last summer when the trailer for this movie arrived I watched it on repeat. It was perfect. Stunning creative shots set exquisitely to a Monsters and Men track and an ending at the car rental shop so funny my brother and I laughed again and again (I still think it's the funniest moment in the film). If I could have framed that trailer I would have, but part of me knew that such unabashed devotion only resulted in outstandingly high expectations.

Now that I finally got around to watching the film the unusual cinematography that the trailer exhibited remains its major streangth, alongside its creative use of typography. It's fitting that the visual elements are so strong in a film that celebrates the value of photographer's image. This, combined with the mostly unified soundtrack (thanks Josh Ganzoles) and the rugged Icelandic landscape, kept me happy for the film's duration. But the movie as a whole failed to graduate from good to great for three reasons.

The storyline felt slapdash and predictable. A plot that moved from New York to Greenland and Iceland and then back to New York would make sense. But a plot that does all that, then adds a backpack trip to the Himalayas and a segway in LA (for the purpose of reintroducing a minor character), finally returning to New York to neatly sum everything up felt a tad complicated, especially when the eventaul ending felt so predictable.

The film's believablity was also hampered by an inconsistent reality. I enjoyed Walter's daydreams. The cinematography blended so them seamlessly with reality that at first we aren't sure just was is happening. (Did he really just insult his boss's beard so brilliantly?) I particularly enjoyed the battle in New York's streets that poked such good natured fun at our modern obsession over superheros. But when the story changed from daydreams to real adventures, moments like a shark battle in the Arctic Ocean cast this supposed reality into a dreamlike state - which would have been fine if the point of the story was that Walter was now transitioning from solely dreaing about adventures to actually doing them.

Which brings us to the point of the story which was muddled by an uncertain and unarticulate message. I think it's point was that we were supposed to go out and chase our dreams. But maybe it's saying that all it takes to get the girls and stare down the jerks is to have a tanned face and a beard from epic mountaineering? Or that having Iceland on your resume along with skateboarding skills and the skill making descisions to join a Tebiatan football game after hiking all day will get you success in life? It did have something do to with being the hardworking ordinarily employee (as long as you remember to enjoy the moment rather than always photograph it). It is hard to be profound when you have nothing profound to say.

In the end, the film would have done better if it had tried to do less. Like longboarding down an Icelandic road, this is a fun ride with many pleasures. I enjoyed watching it. But its efforts at trying to say something leave it in the dust of so many other films that say such things so much better.

(And no Icelandic kid would trade his brand new longboard for a ridiculous toy from the 80s. Please.)

Films of Character in 2013

This post was originally written in January 2014. A list of the top ten 2013 films is forthcoming. Images are posters of the films and are not my own.

This was an unprecedented year of moviegoing for me. Under the guidance of writers like Jeffrey Overstreet and the Letterboxd community, I propelled myself into films that I would previously have never picked up. These were movies of caution, great beauty, patience, and character.  I’m finding now that when I return to films which fascinated or thrilled me years ago, they now seem boring and tired. 

But this also means that I have been introduced to a number of movies from former years that could easily hold their ground on any best of list, so it is a little unfair to add them here. Note too that the line dividing the main list from the honourable mentions is very thin and that this list is in chronological order of watching, not hierarchical order. 

City Lights

Towards the beginning of the year I discovered that almost all of Charlie Chaplin’s films are online. I watched a number of them, some alone and some while the family was gathered round, but City Lights remains my favourite. I returned to it in part for its brilliant humour and classic set design, but mostly for the selfless relationship that the Tramp and the blind flower girl share, particularly in the closing scene, which is rightly called Chaplin’s finest moment of acting. 

Of Gods and Men

One reviewer said “I cannot recall the last film that so wholly, honestly, and movingly explained what it means to be Christian” and I after seeing this twice in 2013 I would have to agree. The men of the Christian monastery in the rural Muslim village, whose daily rhythm is captured so well, felt like brothers by the end. The film explores their decision to either stay in the village and face death in the hands of approaching militants or leave the people they were called to serve. Each man knows that his choice will affect both his brother and the larger community of the village. The village’s reaction to the brothers’ presence had quite the impact on me the first time I watched it and I explained why in my review. 

The Mill and the Cross

A wordless poem, effortlessly capturing Brugal’s painting On the Way to Calvaryin its colours, atmosphere, perspective, and sets. Filled with such  gravity, it grinds its participants with the weight of sin and suffering in the same way the grotesquely shaped mill of the title grinds its wheat. Grace is present, but only on its outskirts, something I would preferred more of. But it does make it the perfect pre-resurrection Good Friday and I plan on watching it annually during Holy Week. 

Breaking Bad

Perhaps the most moral show in television’s history, but I’m not talking about clean content. I’m referring to the tightly wound weight of moral decisions every character makes, decisions clearly grounded in their ordinary day-to-day lives. The show takes its patient time showing the choices unfold as a suburban high school chemistry teacher transforms himself into a drug lord, getting into the characters’ heads so that we can understand why. Yet the impending danger these choices imply haunt every moment like the minor chords that underline its theme music. A character study of Jesse alone would fill a thesis, but Walt pride is the heart of the transformation and going alone for the ride

Gravity

The first time I watched this relatively simple story about disconnect in outer space I was gripping my IMAX seat the whole time and came out of the theatre panting. The second time I was moved to tears by both Ryan Stone’s sorrow at dying without being taught to pray and the film’s powerful closing episode. My only regret is that since I’m unwilling to compromise the experience by watching it on anything other then an IMAX 3D screen,  I don’t expect to re-watch it. Proof that innovation and excellence in cinema is far from over. 

This Is Martin Bonner 

A sparse, simple story of real people struggling for redemption as they live  their ordinary lives. An ex-minster mentors a former inmate as they both work their way out of their cocoons and back into the larger world. Told with patience and grace, elegantly sidestepping any possible cliches, it is an example of the filmmaker’s power to tell stories, paint characters, and encourage the viewer to head back into real life having been reminded what makes it worth telling. 

Inside Llewyn Davis

A Coen Brothers film that follows a folk singer in the 60’s, accompanied by a soundtrack that stands on its own is sure to standout on any list of mine. This is a literary film that favours character development over easy answers and endings, and mixes grace and forgiveness with the bitter uncertainty faced by any young man struggling with his career. I’ve only just seen it, but I know that it will stand up to repeat viewing.

There Will Be Blood, fascinated by the quest for power, featured terrifying acting and grinding cinematography. An important film for Albertans. I admired To The Wonder for the way it effortless captured ordinary beauty, but even more for its wisdom in understanding that  love towards others and God requires work and commitment. The “Before.. Trilogy", Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight, is simple yet incredibly ambitious. It’s also fascinating for its long term chronicling of the payout of a relationship that is based on our culture’s understanding love. Watching Like Someone in Love was when a foreign film humbled me, teaching me to better appreciate foreigners.Once is a low budged Irish film that knows more about human relationships then any dozen Hollywood films, O Brother, Where Art Thou is the Coen brothers teaching us about grace and power of God to baptize when he chooses. And Almost Famous  graciously balanced the need a young person has for the wisdom of home while honestly portraying the charms and dangers of the wider world.

Be sure to regularly check back to my Letterboxd profile. I’ll also keep this website up-to-date as I find more treasures in the year ahead.