Reflections on my Parent's 25th Wedding Anniversary

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Watching archival footage through the eye of a home camera, they were young and handsome. Witty and joyful. Pleased and expectant. Their commitment was pure and radiant were their faces. I have hardly seen a happier and handsomer couple.

“In sickness and in health” says the liturgy and sickness did indeed mark the majority of his days, hampering his academics, his social life, his ministry to the church. But ours is a home of hard-won happiness and their sacrifices were sacrifices of peace.

And so we stand now on the flip side of 25 years, years composed of days and marked by careful steps, regarded conduct, and content with quite contemplation. Their quiver, this side of the battle, is not marked by successes to boast in, yet it is full none the less.

We, their four, still live in a home built by “exhaustions nominating peace.” We are marked by the fall that grinds way at them too. But greater is the joy, a joy that ripples off the mountain valleys like laughter. For we are an offspring of sacrifice and the Spirit. This is His doing, and it is marvellous to behold.

Happy 25th Anniversary Mum and Dad.

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.

Fresh Creativity

Sometimes all it takes to break a creative block is a new app and a creative partner. I had been away from home for a month and a half, returning to my family on a beautiful spring evening. I was surprised to see how warmly my little brother responded to my presence. He's just entering the teenage years, which can be tough but that night he didn't stopped talking to me about anything and everything. He's a pretty creative kid and on a walk with our sisters I pulled out, for the first time in a while, the multiple exposure app Average Cam Pro.

The design of the app needs a lot of work, but the concept is terrific. You control the number of exposures and the time between each exposure, resulting in an image that is layered and jagged and can be controlled by movement to stunning effect. Instagram user Kym Skiles has inspired me with her images for some time now.

We had a blast and came away with some terrific images, but of all the ones we took of our sister, this one takes the cake...and my brother took it, putting all of my attempts to shame! I'm pretty proud of him (and slightly jealous)! 

Since that evening I've been playing with the app quite a bit. I found it a refreshing way to see colour, texture, and form anew.  Enjoy these images and expect to see more in the weeks ahead!

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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.

Reflections on Babette's Feast (1987)

These reflections were written in June 2014. The images are from the film and are not my own.

Growing up in a Christian community, the majority of the stories that were told to me dealt with the results of the church and the world crossing. The contrast was always impressive. Sometimes the good character would become corrupted, often the worldly character would convert, but occasionally the worldly character would leave the church unchanged and the good character would remain in the church, having learned the importance of staying pious.

Babette's Feast is a fable-like story that explores this topic with greater nuance then those childhood morality tales. But it also addresses a second more subtle contrast of the church and decadence. What happens when worldly luxury meets humble faithfulness? What is the roll of such artistic extravagance in the church?

This film touches on these issues and more. It gets many things right, is lit with an ordinary beauty, and explores important themes with such balance that there is room for many essays. "There is a steady gathering of emotion, a sense of a larger truth being touched."

It's central message is that summed up in a quote from the film. "Grace, my friends, demands nothing from us but that we shall await it with confidence and acknowledge it in gratitude. Grace, brothers, makes no conditions and singles out none of us in particular; grace takes us all to its bosom and proclaims general amnesty."

But what that quote misses and what is only lightly touched upon in the film is the cost that such grace requires. A cost that Babette herself freely gave and cost that was given for the grace that we so freely enjoy. That cost begs us to consider when and how such decadence, in life and in the church, should be enjoyed.

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.)

Lenten 2014: A Photo Journey

I did not grow up celebrating Lent. Advent, yes, but Lent had Catholic connotations wrapped up in it. And while I think it would be healthy for someone coming out of Catholicism to abstain from Lent, for evangelicals unaccustomed to such discipline it can be a sobering exercise, preparing one's heart for the coming Resurrection.

This year I decided to do something unusual. I would fast from using colour in my images. Switching my iPhone's camera from colour to black and white was easy with iOS 7. Finding a photo to post (almost) everyday was the greater challenge. Although the discipline made me aware of the shadows and forms everywhere in our world, it was easy to become repetitive.

Another challenge was finding texts to match the images. Malcolm Guite's beautiful series of sonnets for the church year provided much inspiration, as did BIOLA University's Center for Christianity, Culture, and the Arts Lent Project. Of course, scripture was a constant guide and I used a stripped down version of the seven last words of Jesus for one week. (Click on the images below and then hover over them to view the words.)

The effect on my feed and my heart was one of subtle sadness, a weariness and watching that suited life in a fallen world. But as the days went on there grew a steady, constant hope. The Resurrection was coming. All things (including colour) would be, and will be, restored. 

The Mill and the Cross (2011): A Capsule Review

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

I was introduced to this film over a year ago and knew then that I looked forward to returning. But the question was how long to wait? I didn’t want to rush it. But I also knew that this movie would be the perfect fit for Holy Week. So on Holy Saturday I turned down the lights and pressed play.

I am now more familiar with the painting this film brings to life so effortlessly, particularly its lighting. Its costumes and props are so rough and lived in that their foreign realism shocks us.

The theological and artistic heart of the movie is the intersection of ordinary people’s lives with the cruelty of the world. We see this intersection graphically when the life of a young couple is ground to a searing halt after the man is brutally torn from his wife and lifted up to die while on their way to market. We see it subtly in the crows, ominously and repeatedly visible through the window of every house, particularly Brugal's as his young wife cares for their rowdy children.

But nowhere is the contrast more obvious then when these smaller images of the divine morph into an anachronistic representation of the ultimate intersection - the passion of our Lord. In the history of art anachronistic paintings of the crucifixion are common but we see them less in our film driven age. So in the film, when Judas betray Christ by visiting a cathedral's confession room or the condemned thieves meet with a priest before being dragged to their crosses, it’s like cold water to the face. And it reminds us that the world Christ came to save is our world; in this movie, the Flemish world.

In the film Christ’s crucifixion is given a weightiness, most notably in the scene when the miller, representing God, “parts the clouds” by pausing the windmill and with it the scene below him. But when the gears resume their turning and the people their moving and the world its cruelty, I longed to see some glimmer of the resurrection. There lies Christ’s body in a grave, holes on his feet. There is the sun, welcomed after the darkness and violence of the night. There are the people, moving on, dancing, showing Christ in the way they care for their offspring.

There is only one difference. In the background this time there are no crows.

Noah (2014)

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

One of my earliest memories is my dad reading to me from Ken Taylor's Bible in Pictures. The images seared in my early memory were far different than the cartoon images in other children's Bibles. They were vivid and realistic, men with muscle and woman with grace. These images were my earliest encounter with the Noah account and one particular image stood out as I watched Darren Aronofsky’s Noah. It was of a wooden ark, tightly sealed, mounted on jagged, painful rocks. Water poured from the sky and gushed off the these stones while desperate men and woman clung on for life while others slipped into the encroaching waves.

Any time Hollywood takes a beloved story and illustrates it on the big screen, scores of angry fans of the book will tear apart any time the adaptation commits infidelity to the text. But if such is the case for a work of fiction, the response is intensified when someone tries to adapt the Bible. It's disappointing that there is such backlash from Christians who have historically had a close relationship with the arts, especially religious art. So it's no wonder recent adaptations safeguard themselves from such response by creating tame and boring films of biblical texts, like the recent Son of God.

So I was rather intrigued when it was announced that Darren Aronofsky was directing a large budget version of this beloved story. Aronofsky is first and foremost an artist who is bound to use his greatest gift, his imagination, in telling this story. And, contrary to what many devote Christians are raving against it, Aronofsky is treating the text with great seriousness, both in details, like the measurements of the ark, and the human themes contained in the account.

Immediately apparent is a distinct visual style. The antediluvian world is depicted as far different than our own. Barren, expansive landscapes are paired with crude ancient clothing, architecture, and artifacts. Of course Aronofsky gives us the expected stunning visual moments that draw us, the audience, in with anticipation - animals surging towards the ark, water springing from the ground and pouring across the earth. Less expected but equally appreciated were the small imaginative details like stop motion flow of time passing while the creator creates and the reoccurring figure of Cain killing Abel as a symbol for man's propensity to violence.

But these broad brush strokes also lumbered, much like the ridiculous and unnecessary fallen angels turned rock giants. Part of the challenge is that this story is so familiar and linear that the director almost has to add extra drama, drama that ultimately weighed down the flow of the film.

Aronofsky’s is deeply concerned with the humans that are at the centre of this story, particularly Noah and his call to obey a God he doesn't understand and isn't quite sure he hears. This was a clear departure from the text in scripture, where God’s message to Noah is explicit and allows many opportunities for the rest of mankind to repent and take refuge in the ark. But this departure results in a fascinating dilemma to materialize. Man is pictured in this film as fallen to his very core, both in his actions and the intent of his heart. It accurately depicts the root of the Fall as wanting to be like God and refusing to allow His word to rule.

At one point, Noah, having seen the extent of human evil in the hoards that surround the ark, comes to realization that this same fallen nature is rooted in him too. His wife insists that he and his children are good, listing off their attributes until Noah interrupts her. “If their lives were at stake , wouldn't you kill others for them?” In coming to this honest realization of his personal propensity to evil, Noah (and his screenwriter) have been more accurate as to the state of humanity then many other recent films.

Noah is left with an intense internal dilemma. Why has God chosen him and his family to continue to live? What has made them so special when the Fall as ruined them too? Don’t they and their innocent offspring deserve death, the same death brought upon their neighbours by the waters around them?

Aronofsky is creating this movie from the perspective of a Jew-turned-athiest, and he doesn’t give an answer. He hints at a possibility through a drunken, naked, and broken Noah on a beach, restoration and reconciliation through new life, and the unspoken promise of a rainbow pulsating from above.

But it is through redeemed eyes that we look back on the story of Noah, seeing grace from judgement offered through one man. We see a God who himself shut the door of the ark, giving many plenty of time to get onboard. We see a family, themselves just as broken as their neighbours, offered mercy through a second chance but we also see a means for this grace to appear. Noah is allowed to live, but his wickedness did not go unpunished. “By faith Noah…” says the writer of the New Testament book of Hebrews. By faith he trusted in the God who saved him and by faith the punishment that he deserved was passed on to another, an innocent man, the God-man made flesh, Jesus Christ. That is my answer to the very important dilemma put forth in the film.

So is this movie perfect? Far from it. Is it an artistic accomplishment? Absolutely. It engages an age-old text, raising serious questions that will result in fascinating discussions; therefore it deserves be seen.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

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

Every since seeing Moonrise Kingdom in a small theatre in 2012, Wes Anderson’s films have always held a certain magic over me. His minutely crafted details draw me in, but I return for the character’s honest and painful journeys, reminding me of the joys ever present in this life.

Wes Anderson always creates artificial or nostalgic worlds that are tucked away in their own space and time, connected to our world yet entirely their own. By its very title implying old world Europe, The Grand Budapest Hotel lets you know that this story will accentuate these traits. Yet Wes eases us into this faraway country by the use of not two but three prologues, each in a separate aspect ratio. It is a time very different than ours, where Andersoneon visual symmetry and character quirkiness feel entirely natural.

And so the hotel and its surrounding landscape, like a luxurious visual pop-up book dusted with icing sugar, is the ideal medium for Wes to perfect his signature style. Visual elegance is matched by characters so pitch-perfect that one false step would ruin the illusion - but this delicate pastry of a movie is in the hands of meticulous master and there are no false steps.

A good portion the fun is its wound-up mechanical clock of a story involving train rides at night, tramways up snow covered mountains, luge sled chases (in stop motion) and an evil villain (William Defoe) with so many giant rings that his fingers are an ever present brass knuckle. The flavour is that of a Tintin adventure and the joy of the action is equaled by the joy of its humour. Wes Anderson’s jokes are always character driven and the characters here are numerous and in perfect step with each other. It's as if Wes gathered a "whose who" of old and new Hollywood players, impeccably outfitted and moustached them, and let them play their best, serving the story rather than themselves.

Ralph Fines plays M. Gustave H, a vain concierge, egotistic in his ever present service, dedicated in detail (and body) to every guest at his hotel (which all happen to be old, rich and equally fuelled by flattery). One of these guests, Madam D. (Tilda Swinton as her future self), is murdered in her mansion, setting off a goose chase involving fortune, a old-master painting, henchmen in black and the (somewhat) innocent against the (purely) evil.

But just Madam D.’s fear foreshadows her eventual murder, an approaching darkness grows in the background of the picture, visualized by SS soldiers at checkpoints and the decay established in the prologue. This darkness announces its permanent arrival through several unexpected and grizzly deaths. This may be a fairytale world, but it is rooted in a real and tragic history.

This darkness helps balance what would otherwise be almost too sweet to swallow. Much like the film's tiny pastries that hid iron weapons, this confection of a film contains serious themes under its delicate wrapper. Guestave H., through his lobby boy in training (Tony Revolori),  undergoes a journey from vanity to humility and sacrifice. His protégée, Zero, realizes that against these dark tides of Nazism and socialism there is real love to protect and cherish - love for his fiancé Agatha (Saoirse Ronan) and his now elder brother Guestave H. Zero, who arrived in Europe with “zero” family, has found one. And even if tragedy takes them, his memories of them will leave him content.

But there is hardly time to catch one's breath to let these themes sink in, which is perhaps why this volume doesn't rank as high in my books as Anderson’s other, more poignant, stories. And does this dark undercurrent lend itself to despair? Is there a certain sense of cynicism - the knowledge, given through the prologue before the story begins that as grand and elegant and beautiful as this Europe was, it would soon implode to death, decay, and depression - a grim riper, hiding in the dark shadows with socked feet? Perhaps, but one might argue that this is a realism that gives this visual delight its staying power. And lest we worry that subsequent times were devoid of beauty and humanity, Wes Anderson's other films should serve to remind us that joy, sorrow, repentance, and delight - life itself - will continue.

Philomena (2013)

his review was originally published in January 2014. Images are from the film and are not my own.

Last week a friend and I watched Philomena, a BBC film about an elderly Irish lady who has kept hidden for 50 years the secret of her pregnancy as a teen. A group of nuns bring her into their abbey to deliver the baby, but in penences for her sin and their medical assistance she is required to work for several years to pay them back and her baby boy is adopted by an American. Fifty years later, Philomonia opens up to her family about her past and her story is told to Martin, a once prestigious journalist who had a falling out with BBC and is now struggling with where to go next in his career. He rather reluctantly picks up the story and accompanies Philomenia on the search of her son.

This is essentially a "human interest story" but it is a brave one, diving into incredibly sensitive subjects, yet uplifted and sustained by the character and humour of its main actors. Judi Dench plays an ordinary person with a dark story of sadness running through her memories like a black cord. It's a testament to the grace given her that the evils she suffered don't inbitter her. Instead she is lovable, kind, and generous in her estimation of others.

The storytelling is not perfect, at times rushing moments that could have been quite moving had they more room to breath. Although the transition into the backstory was a rather creative shot, the rest of the backstory could have been more creatively integrated. Several aspects of the story felt a touch contrived or simplistic, until you realize that it is based on a true story. I wondered out loud if this project had two screenwriters and I was correct.

My response to the story was also complicated by my relationship with the Catholic Church. As an evangelical it was easy to categorize the evils and attitudes we see in the nuns as a Catholic problem. And I couldn't help but notice the lack of repentance or guilt Philomenia had over the orginal affair. It's as if the character herself adopted the stance of the filmmakers.

But to focus on those issues is to miss the point. This is an engaging story driven by powerful characters and their interactions. Especially notable is how this movie contains so many honest conversations betwen the sceptic and the believer. Martin is an atheist and Philominea has kept her Catholic belief. She continues to keep this faith dispite the fact that as the story progress it is her faith, not his, that ought to be tested. Instead of becoming more bitter towards the wrongs that were commited against her she grows in grace, both towards her persecutors and in how she answers her sceptical friend, a true testament of the grace of her redeemer.

And it is ultimately this grace, this forgiveness offered her, that she can extend to her tormentors. And so the simple Irish granny, fond of croutons and tootsie roles, can offer something that the Oxbridge-trained man of this world can not - forgiveness. This forgiveness does not from her, but from Christ,  who's image she places on the tomb of her son.

Yes, this film is not perfect. Yet even the stories we tell, something as inconsequential as the cheap romance stories that Philomena reads, have wisdom. And, like this story, they can reflect the truth and beauty of the Story-weever himself onto the plain face of his bride. "And I never saw that coming!"

Job: Reflections on a Suffering Servant

This post was originally written in February 2014. 

I just finished reading through Job, a chunk of scripture found towards the middle of the Bible. Job is fascinating from a literary perspective. Forty chapters of rambling Hebrew poetry sandwiched between two chapters of sparse narrative. It's an unusual context. Job, an ancient Middle Eastern patriarch, was 'blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil" (1:1) and God blessed him with offspring, livestock, possessions, and respect from his community. He was utterly exemplary in his behaviour but in verse six the curtain to the heavens is pulled back and we, the audience, are given a rare glimpse into the heavenly courts. "The sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them." Satan, ever the accuser, challenges Job's exemplary behaviour. "Stretch out your hand" he says to the Lord "and touch all that he has and he will curse you to your face."  God gives Satan permission to do this and in swift, relentless strokes, Job is stripped of his servants, oxen, donkeys, sheep, and camels (struck down by Sabeans, fire from heaven, and Chaldeans respectively). But before the news-bearer has finished giving a report of this to Job, another runs up announcing that Job's children, having gathered together in celebration, were killed when the house they were in collapsed. Soon after, Job's health falls apart, his wife urges him to curse God, and he is left covered "head to toe" in sores in an ash heap and scraping himself with broken pottery. But "in all this Job did not sin with his lips."

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The narrative portion of the book ends when Job's three friends come to weep over him. After a weak of weeping, "for his suffering was very great," Job opens his mouth and forty chapters of poetic dialogue begin. The contrast is immediately apparent. Gone are the swift strokes of storytelling and the heavenly perspective. What follows is verbal violence and mud-slinging between the grieving Job, who upholds the claim that he did not sin and that's God's actions towards him are unjust, and his friends, who maintain that God is just and Job is guilty of sin.

The fact is, both these human opinions are incorrect. Job is not being punished for his sin (we know this from the prologue) and yet God's actions are always just. Endless chapters of back and forth dialogue, in which these opinions are hashed and re-hashed, end when God Himself answers Job "from the whirlwind,” accosting Job's understanding. "Where were you when

I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding" is the thrust of his argument. God uses examples of his awesome and intricate power demonstrated in his creation that literally leaves Job with his hand over his mouth. In the face of such intimate and transcendent power and knowledge and such management of the world of nature, what response can Job give? In two short speeches he demonstrates repentance and humility. 

There is plenty to learn from the book of Job and many of written on Job's response to both suffering and the character of God. But there were two aspects of the book that really stood out to me this time through. 

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The first was how the frustrating and messy dialogue between Job and his friends, despite the many wrong ideas and outspoken temper, still resulted in progress in Job's thinking. Much of what Job says is wrong. But through it all, he makes more and more statements that are humble instead of arrogant and express humility and faith in God's fairness. He begins to become aware, especially in chapter 28, that he himself cannot solve his problem through his own reasoning but rather "the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom."

The takeaway for us? Conversations with friends over important issues are worth having, even if wrongheaded ideas are frequently spouted. Working through these issues may grow and mature our understanding, but nothing like the perspective of God himself. 

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Yet there is a second thread running through the book that gives even more hope to the reader who notices it. Hidden between the long and often arrogant speeches are phrases that sound extra familiar to our ears, none of which are as explicate as 19:25-36 when Job declares "I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God." 

These are hints and foretastes (especially chapter 22) of the Redeemer that Job does not see and yet will one day sanctify him. Christ is the one who suffered unjustly far more then Job did, for Job was still conceived in sin and Christ was not. And it is Christ's suffering that makes ours bearable. In the words of George Macdonald "the Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His." 

Not only is God's wisdom so much higher then ours, but his empathy is routed in the suffering that Christ himself received on our behalf. And if we can learn this from an ancient book of Hebrew poetry, reading it is worth our time indeed. 

Her (2013)

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

This isn’t so much a review as it is an attempt to describe my personal reflections upon seeing Spike Jonze’s excellent new film Her. In case anyone wonders after reading reading my thoughts, I do recommend seeing this complex and beautiful analysis of a modern human condition and I plan on returning to it again. 

Arcade Fire’s latest album Reflektor has been playing almost non-stop. I’m a little late getting into it (the album came out just before Christmas music season) but  the timing is perfect, since Arcade Fire also scored Spike Jonze Her. And it turns out that the themes that the album and the film explore are similar, as other reviewers have pointed out. Both wrestle with a modern problem, the challenge of a relationship that is sustained by technology

The film effortlessly realizes a possible not-to-distant future where slick software is built into everyday hardware, and where the auditory is emphasized over the visual, especially in the way we use our computers.  In this world no one minds who talks to their computer while on the crowded subway, in the busy square, or even at work. And this is all captured by a shallow focus and detail rich cinematography that complements beautifully the aesthetics of that world.

The acting is equally effortless. Joaquin Phoenix plays the melancholy Theodore who, despite both his vocation as a letter writer and the long standing friendships he enjoys, finds himself alone at night in his light-filled apartment, sleepless and turning to the pale light of his constant companion, his phone.

As I watched this scene play out, I realized that I must not be the only insomniac who turns to his phone for relief. Mind you, the film was intensely personal to me in many other aspects I shouldn’t be surprised. Like how Theodore enjoys a long-standing, unromantic friendship with his friend Amy and how the person with whom he grew up and shared so many memories with is now distant and hard to reach.

And so we are brought to the central message of this film: real human relationships are much messier then artificial ones, yet satisfy in ways the others never could. Theodore’s relationship with his wife Kathy stretches far into their past, as we are gradually shown through flashbacks and memories. The two grew up together, studied together, and are so intertwined as personalities and friends that their lives became inseparable. So when their marriage finally falls apart, the unraveling is so painful, it takes Theodore “three months to write the letter T on the divorce papers.” The scene where he finally finishes writing his name while she signed hers across the table was painfully real, merging Theodore’s memory with reality and showing the tragedy that is two people so joined together split apart. 

But Theodore was previously reluctant to sign those papers (“we’ve been married so long”). It wasn’t someone who encouraged him to move on, it was something. His new operating system is also his new partner and the realization of the digital relationships that kept him awake at night on his previous phone. Now to be fair, Samantha, his OS, is voiced by Scarlet Johansson, and is a captivating personality. And their chemistry together is so effortlessly realized that I had to constantly remind myself that it was just a performance. On paper too, this concept courts cliche. But on the screen it is realized with a tenderness and poignancy that is beautiful to watch. 

"You’ve always wanted a wife without the challenges of actually dealing with anything real" Theodore’s ex claims. "I’m glad that you’ve found someone." Part of the film’s brilliance is Theodore and Sam’s relationship it is actually more complicated then that. But as captivating and satisfying as Samantha is, in the end she is just a machine. Unlike her claim that humans and computers are both evolved matter and therefore the same, the truth is, humans are distinct and separate. Samantha is a replacement, a replacement that was not meant to be.

The more I think about it, the more I think the anthem for the movie is Arcade Fire’s song Porno. The song explores the temptation that is porn and the damage it causes in relationships and in lives. Porn is a replacement of something good for something that on the surface appears satisfying. “We are only here briefly, and in this moment I want to allow myself joy” a friend of Theodore’s says in the film, but this joy that she is seeking, as layered and alluring as it is, is ultimately artificial. And when Theodore has aural sex with Samantha, it is the culmination of the aural internet sex that he experimented with online earlier, a cheap substitute for the real thing, unnatural and wrong. 

So there something to learn from this masterpiece of a movie. There is superficial matter that is itself beautiful, alluring, and complex, but it can distract us from who we should be focusing on. There are relationships that are romantic as well as long-lasting friends and these will be tested, tugged at, and even torn. But they are worth fighting for and maintaining, even in our digital age. As Arcade Fire sings,

"I know you’re living in my mind

It’s not the same as being alive.

If telling the truth is not polite

Then I guess we’ll have to fight.”

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.

Books of Influence in 2013

This post was originally published in January 2014. Images are from the books and are not my own.

It’s that time of year, where bloggers everywhere turn to their logbooks of entertainment from the previous year and offer up their favoirtes. As one who loves lists, I too offer my selections. Today we will discuss books, with films to follow. 

First, a word on “the best of 2013”. I think I read three or four books this year that were actually published in 2013, so if I stuck to that categorization, this would be a short and easy list. But of the 38 books I read this year, I’m bound to be influenced by much more then just the passing fancies of our age. It’s perhaps slightly unfair, since I could just read a stack of classics and accurately call them the “best” books I read that year. But nevertheless, in chronological order, I offer the books that most shaped me this past year, followed by list of honourable mentions.

A hefty 500 page anthology, The Christian Imagination: The Practice of Faith in Literature and Imagination features contributions, both short and long, from 50 authors, living and dead, assembled by the venerable authorty of the topic, Leland Ryken. It set a trajectory and was a travelguide for what would become a year of art exploration. The book explores, from many angles, the “realationship between imagination, belief, and words” and taught me to demand a quality in writing that reflects the author’s Creator, to confront the “aesthetic poverty of evangelicalism”, and to recognize the worldview of an author while learning from the way that author represents it.

A Good Man is Hard To Find and The Children of Men were read shortly after or at the same time as the previous volume. They both illustrated the principles Ryken’s book set out. Here are two Christian women who write well and by their writing challenge both believers and the world at large. Flannery O’Conner’s work particularly stands out for its dark short stories depiciting ordinary characters in a weary world, in which you can almost feel the eternal weight of their desicions. Much has been said about how Ms. O’Conner used violence to shock her characters and her sleepy audience into the realization of eternal truths. I find her short stores a cousin of sorts to the music of Sufjan Stevens.

The moment I heard about Every Good Endeavor: Connecting Your Work to God’s Work I knew it was for me. It was so helpful I plan on rereading it every year that I find myself in the workforce. Unlike so many other evangelical perspectives on the working world, this is a wholestic, hopeful, biblical, and practical look at the culture of the workforce and how it interesects with the Christian’s calling. I want to buy a box of copies and hand them to friends and colleagues.

Seldom have I enjoyed a book more than Planet Narnia. Like a real life literary detective novel, this book adds so much to the beloved series I grew up with and to the study of Lewis. Not only is it an example of how a Christian should bring both literary and theological depth to his writing, but it also opened my eyes to the the world of Lewis scholarship  something I am now itching to one day contribute to.

I slowly worked my way through The Four Holy Gospels, savouring the way the depth of its images paired to the eternal depth of its words. My Name is Asher Lev painted with words the way the author sees the world along with his internal struggle. Death By Living was enjoyable and moving, well written and entertaining. The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert was an encouraging reminder to never give up on the unlikely people God throws in your path. Finally, Winter’s Tale, although convoluted at times and prehaps too long, was a book full of wisdom and beauty and is the work of fiction which I have underlined the most.

Stay tuned! Next I’ll be posting my favourite films from 2013.

Fretting and Resting in 2014

This post was originally written in January 2014.

My friend posted a video on his blog detailing his plans for 2014. Not New Year’s resolutions, (which he labelled as) “bullshit”, but a list of goals he would like to accomplish. They includes things like finishing his book of modern day fairy tales, increasing his average YouTube vieo view count to 300, and shooting a short film. All of them significant yet all of them achievable. And were he to achieve half of these goals, his year will be more influential then my past three.

The end of a year is a time to take stock of the last one and make plans for the next. My goals are less ambitious then Kyle’s. Over the weekend I made a list of books I would like to read in 2014. And looking back over 2013, certain value statements can be made about how I used my time. For example, I read 39 books (three more then what I read last year, 63 less then 2011), watched 72 movies (31 more movies then books), and posted 188 photos to Instagram (leaving 177 days when I posted nothing).

When I stare at these numbers my year looks pretty useless. To hide my guilt  I try to congratulate myself on the difficult course I completed with success, the advancements I achieved in my career, and the new friendships I have formed. But there were friendships left stagment too, time that could have been better spent completing more courses, and money better saved.

Such is time. Regret and loss. Achievement and possibility. I suppose trite lists like the books I have read say little and the lists that I used to keep -highlighting memories savoured and graces given - speak more accurately to time's passing.

Today one of our pastors preached on Matthew 11:25-30. He paused on the opening phrase “At that time, Jesus…” At that time.

The incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas was a space and time event. Again and again in the gospels we are reminded of the particularity of the events they record, events in space and time that reverberate to this day.

So in that context it is interesting to note the last couple verses of that passage. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

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Our pastor emphasized that this rest is not exactly a rest from our work in this world and our labours against sin, but a rest from our own efforts to achieve salvation.

This salvation is salvation from sin and judgment, but it also includes salvation from our self-worth being bound up in how we spend our time. How fitting it is that we celebrate the space-time event of the the Incarnation (Christmas), which brought about our rest, just before the dawn of a new year.

The rest that has been achieved for us does not mean we rest from our efforts to set goals, to read well, and achieve in 2014 things that give God glory. Yet it does mean that we do all this knowing that our efforts in our space and time are ordained by the same One Who established our salvation in past time and space. And it means that looking back over 2013 we can have peace that what happened happened well. As our pastor said, “Look back on 2013 with rest. Look ahead with rest. Strive to enter this rest and rest in His, our King’s, great work.”

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)

This review was originally published in January 2014. My opinions on the film have since crystallized and I am more a fan than before. It has gone on to become my favourite film of 2013. Images are from the film and are not my own.   

The Coen Brother's films, consistently worth our time, seem interested in exploring grace (emphasized in Oh Brother Where Art Thou), sin (No Country For Old Men), and how these two interact (Fargo).

Their latest offering again explores the balance of these two realities. Inside Llywen Davis follows a week in the life of its title character, who deserves our sympathy. Ever since his musical partner (voiced by Marcus Mumford) commited sucide, his career as a solo act has been a constant struggle. Although Llewyn is accurately discribed by a former friend as "an asshole", the root of his chilly demeanour and cruel outbursts is his grief over the lose of his friend ("fare thee well" being his anthem), as well as his struggle over the uncertainty of his future.

But these outbursts are blinding him to the grace present in his life. The first half of the film emphasizes this grace with its humour and is perhaps represented by the orange cat that alternately pursues and is pursued by Llewyn. It's only later in the film that the tone gets more serious as Llweyn's depression sets in. He is riddled by strangers and cut off from any remaining friends who care. His angst over his future felt very familiar to me and is accurately portrayed as his frustration and boredom for those he is surrounded by is with mixed with his uncertainty. "What are you doing?" is seen scratched on the wall of a roadside bathroom stall. This question haunts him and is one that I have also asked myself many times.

As failure continues to doge his back, we too start yearning for some sort of success for Llewyn or at least some sort of resolution or answer. Perhaps he will give in to careerist callings, following his old man at sea, "growing up, growing old, and dying"  but even that door is bared. And he embarrasses himself by a cruel outburst to some of his kindest friends and then again a fellow performer. In his heartache, he has slammed the door on any grace offered to him (along with any cats representing it).

But all is not lost for Llewyn. Forgiveness is offered by those whom he shortsighted, complete with the reappearance of fuzzy toms. Although he longs to be called home and "fly away to the one he loves," retribution for his cruelty will come knocking (or in this case punching). The film leaves him with hope for his struggling art, if he will learn to listen to the artists he shares his stage with (and especially one with curly hair and a harmonica). Hopefully he is realizing that the people around him, although often equal to him in asshole status, also provide the forgiveness, friendship, and grace that they both desperately need. Hopefully the "au reviour" he gives at the end is to that former lifestyle of shortsightedness and selfishness

As I walked home from the theatre, the freezing wind blowing at my scarf bound face like it did Llywen's, I reflected back on my day. "Aching pain" had filled my, both with the people around me and my career. But as I reflected on my frustrations, I was brought back to the graces that were given to me that day by the same people. Like Llewyn's cat, it encouraged me to keep singing and keep on hoping as I too travelled the "green, green rocky road."

12 Years a Slave (2013): Reflections on the Film

This review was originally published in December 2013. The images are from the film and are not my own.

I went into this film expecting a harrowing experience, but excited none the less to see a challenging work of art. And as I watched it I found critiques, both positive and negative, hard to make due to the nature of the film’s subject matter. But there is a line in the film where Solomon says that he trusted those who kidnapped them because they were artists. And so even artists deserve correction.

The acting in the movie is, for the most part, outstanding. Chiwetel Ejiofor hits both the highs and lows, and is especially evocative during the lows. Michael Fassbender creates a character who is evil but not just a caricature (unlike the kidnappers who felt like side characters in a Tintin book).

The cinematography contributed powerfully to the story, not just the lighting (one scene right after Solomon is kidnaped shows his face in darkness and his captors face illumiated with light) but also the visual imagery (Solomon tightly winding his violin until it snaps right after Patsy’s brutal whipping). The music also added to the story, full of tension and grace without being distracting. (I was surprised to learn it was compared by Hans Zimmer. I'm used to him being bold or bombastic, not subtle and creative like this time.)

Steve McQueen’s previous works include Hunger and Shame, and he once said that both were part of the same story. They are concerned with human extremes (one with physical violence, the other with sexual violence; interesting that both of these themes come into play in 12 Years a Slave) and this film seems equally fascinated with human extremes. Many have said that the unflinching shot of Solomon hanging from a nose while his feet try to keep their bearing in the mud is a picture that describes the rest of the film - an unflinching look of a man stuck in an unnatural situation, in which he tries to avoid making false moves that will take his life. And the movie is more then anything else fascinated with this situation. Perhaps if it were a documentary the evils portrayed would have been more horrifying, but as an audience member we know that we are seeing actors subjected to these emotions and these acts of physical violence. And I wasn’t quite sure how to handle that.

What fascinated me more were the scenes with Benedict Cumberbatch’s character (another terrific acting job, what a repertoire this man is building for himself!) who plays an Anglican minister caught up in Solomon’s story. He and his wife have a conscience - you can see it in their eyes and in their actions. But they are part of a slave-owning and racially biased culture, so how can they reconcile the two?

Perhaps I can relate. I see our modern day evils, some of which are equal to the evils portrayed in the film. I look with compassion, but in the end I am part of a culture that endorses and has built its economy around it. The men of history who stand out, men like Lincoln and Wilberforce and Martin Luther King, were those who didn’t care about what the culture said and acted anyway. 

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013)

This review was originally written in December of 2013. Images are not my own.

At one point in The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug the dwarves cover the famous dragon in melted gold, only to see him burst out of the simmering liquid, flap his magnificent wings and cause the night sky to be littered with thousands of gold stars. It's the most impressive shot of the film and I suppose can be used as an analogy, the filmmakers being the dwarves who have almost smothered the living creature that is the book in their quest to gain more box office gold. It's a shame that the movie did not break free of its lugubrious additions, adding some more stars to the night sky that is the Tolkien Myth.

At one point in the movie a character talked about the elves "feast of starlight" and I thought it was a good description of what made the Lord of the Rings trilogy such a formative part of my generation's imagination. It's full of bright stars; music that will never leave me, moments of sacrifice and character that have formed mine, living people of all sizes who continue to take root in my mind, battles and horrors as real as our own, and a landscape paired with photography that allowed us time to look around and soak it in. And the first Hobbit film had echoes of these stars, scenes that took their time to introduce characters with humour and detail and shots that were beautiful and memorable. But these echoes were muddied by underdrawn additional characters and overwrought moments of peril. There is no doubt that our kid in a candy store, Peter Jackson, went overboard stretching the slender book to three films.

This second film expanded what was wrong of the last one. Moments of starlight are present in The Desolation of Smaug, but are quickly overshadowed by melted, melted something, but certainly not gold. Martin Freeman stands out and it is a shame that we did not see this hobbit in an adaptation worthy of his performance. Cumberbatch's Smaug was a feast to behold, when we could, and the Swedish Beorn was terrific, although his time on screen was far too short. And some of the new locations, including Laketown and it's characters, were very enjoyable, full of details.

There is a rumour that Warner Brothers is planning a middle earth theme park, and after seeing this movie I fully believe it. The studio must have asked Mr. Jackson to supply them with scenes they can turn into amusement rides and the director was happy to oblige with one set piece after another. Ride the barrels down the rapids with Biblo and friends! Ride the pulleys and rivers of fire to catch the dragon with melted gold!

I understand that for three movies some thing have to be added and I was okay with many of these additions, in particular Gandalf's quest into the identity of the Necromancer. But the thrilling additions lumbered instead of thrilled and left me bored and checking my watch.

Maybe I'm getting older. The films that inspire me like the night sky's are those that are creatively told, full of fascinating characters beautifully recorded by photography. This Hobbit has taken a children's story beloved for generations that is filled with starlight, and tuned into a Saturday morning cartoon. Saturday morning cartoons are popular, as this movie is sure to be and the producers will be glad to claim their gold. But it will not form the imagination of a generation and will easily be forgotten in a couple years.

Of Gods and Men (2010): A Capsule Review

Post originally written in May of 2013. Images are not my own.

The village is nestled amongst mountains and forests, the monastery perched at its peak. The nine members of the monastery live a life that is centred around their lives of worship but they involve and include the Muslim community of the village they call their own. They farm their crops, worship their God with ages-old chants and hymns, cook, eat and clean. But they also study and write about their faith and the faith of the village they are in, and daily meet, counsel, and serve their local community, dispersing medicine, footwear, and advice, even joining them to celebrate their Muslim ceremonies. All the while they remain distinctly Christian. They are a true picture of a body of Christ living and serving in a secular culture.

And yet this life is not without its darkness. There are forces in the world who hate the church and its faithful work in the world. In this picture of a film, those forces are Muslim extremists who make their way towards the village, slicing the throats of those who don’t abide by their rules. The story of this film is about this threat and how the brothers choose to respond.

It is told with a quite, honest, and steady camera, less affectious then Terence Malick’s, simpler then Lech Majewski, in a sense perfectly matching the patient lifestyle of its subject.

There is a scene halfway into the film that is often described by its admirers. They brothers are in the midst of wrestling through the decision of whether to stay in the village and risk certain death, or to flee to their former homes, lives, and safety. They bring their thoughts before some of the village elders, confessing that that they feel helpless "like birds on a branch. We may be leaving.” After a pause, one of the villagers responds, “We are the birds. You are the branch. If you go, we will loose our footing.”

I had been enjoying this film up until that moment, but from then on it resonated on a whole new level. Just the other week, having left work for five days to attend a family funeral, a colleague and friend told me that “work feels soulless without you.” This film became a commentary on my role in living out my faith in what is my village.

This group of brother lived their Christian walk with honesty and devotion, before each other, their fellow man, and their God. The film is an honest look at the evening of their lives, and it is one that spoke volumes into my own situation. I hope to return to it, and I hope that it becomes part of the fabric of my life.