saved by the bell

ok friends

you can rest easy.

after last week's threat-filled dilemma, i'm back to my usual self.

having feared for the very life of cinema itself, i spent almost six hours in two separate darkened rooms today, watching a brand new movie, and one that's over a quarter of a century old.

both were magnificent.

i had never seen bergman's 'fanny and alexander', so when the opportunity arose at the rather lovely duke university free screen society to see it on a nice public screen, i made plans to be there. i need to think about it for a while before i say anything else, so let this suffice: i think i saw something wonderful tonight, and imagine i feel somewhat differently about the world than bergman. the notion that you can never be free of your ghosts seems to me not to chime with reality. people make peace with the past all the time. i hope that bergman's life was less debt-ridden than his art.

and the other film, much less serious than bergman's, but nonetheless beautiful - scorsese's rolling stones' concert film 'shine a light' - an exhilirating, exuberant, often hilarious and incredibly exciting film. i was the only guy in the audience and was delighted. the sound's great, and the images are utterly cinematic - i couldn't quite figure out why this movie was restoring (some of) my faith in cinema, but then i realised that these boys are ultimately some of the world's consummate performers. they belong on a movie screen.

charlie watts is the eric morecambe of rock'n'roll, doing comedy huffs and winks at the camera, and needing to be helped down off his rostrum. mick is old enough to be your grandad but more alive than most teenagers. ronnie wood is the sniggering kid, hiding his smokes from his mum, and looking down girl's blouses. and keith - well, it's easy to lionise the guy (and demonise too), but i'll stay out of that. let's just say this: he knows he's lucky to be alive, and seems to spend most of his time in a state of stunned enjoyment. there's a moment at the end of the movie
when the music is done, and he's kneeling on the ground, holding the neck of his guitar, his eyes closed and lips pursed in an obvious prayer. in four years' time, the stones will have been together for fifty years. there's not a lot about their music that could be called socially mature, but they've been expressing truth and angst about the human heart for as long as i've been alive, and half as long again. and scorsese has made a gorgeous, thrilling film about them.

and in a weird confluence, both of the films i saw today are in some part about the same thing: the role women play in men's lives. it's been a very good day at the movies for me.

the complexity of charlton heston

Charlton Heston died this weekend at age 84, following Roy Scheider and Richard Widmark as the latest in a series of powerful cinematic actors to pass away -- although Heston was probably best known to a younger generation as the old guy who walked out of a Michael Moore interview in Bowling for Columbine. His was an ambivalent life – living through 14 presidencies (and personally befriending several of the most recent occupants of the office), supporting civil rights when it was unfashionable, switching his political allegiances, and latterly becoming identified with right-wing causes. Not often a subtle actor (although you could do worse than watch his performance in Orson Welles' Touch of Evil as a tribute), he represented a particular kind of vanishing screen presence who, like John Wayne, represented a vision of American greatness that depended far too much on the suggestion of invulnerability.

So, now that he is gone, what do you say about Charlton Heston? Something simple: He shouldn't be judged on the basis of one interview, given after a diagnosis of Alzheimer's disease to a door-stopping filmmaker known for his pranks.

He should be judged on his contribution to the movies -- doing gravitas better than anyone else, standing as our image of Moses, Ben-Hur, various military captains, the head of the CIA, and ultimately a particular kind of god figure. I never saw a Heston performance that didn't entertain me on some level.

And, in the interests of full disclosure, he should also be judged on his political activity. The simplistic analysis of the relationship between personal freedom and gun ownership offered by the National Rifle Association, which Heston did so much to bolster, seems outrageous to my Northern Irish ears. In his speeches to and on behalf of the NRA, Heston also sometimes seemed to lack empathy for the victims of gun crime, in his attempts to promote his contentious understanding of the U.S. Constitution.

At the same time, he was an early supporter of the civil rights movement, and even picketed a screening of one of his own films because it was being screened in a racially segregated cinema. He also made several films, such as Soylent Green, The Omega Man, and Planet of the Apes, that endorsed environmental and anti-nuclear causes at a time when it wasn't as easy to engage the public mind in these matters.

To continue reading this post on the God's Politics blog, click here.

cinematic shame

hello there

i have a confession and a cry for help, all rolled into one.

i have spoken with my colleague jett loe about this, and he has expressed his empathy. but i feel i must share this story with you, dear reader, in the hope that you might be able to assuage my fears.

yesterday i took advantage of a couple of hours away from my labours and bought a ticket at one of the local nashville multiplexes, for a film that looked to any reasonable viewer that it might pass the time, if not enjoyably, at least with a few moments of entertainment. failing that, some light dancing on a white screen has always served as a counter to the monotony of a tuesday afternoon.

after 45 minutes of the film had passed, i found myself gasping for a reason to stay. this film, which i do not wish to name, for it has already had enough publicity, was so derivative, so formulaic, so utterly without interest or merit that i had become bored enough, as mr loe once said to me, that i wanted to eat my own hair.

i attempted to steel myself for the possibility that something would eventually happen to pique - or resurrect - my interest. such as laurence fishburne turning in the kind of performance he used to. but then i realised something.

i was embarrassed.

even though i was alone in the cinema, and nobody else knew i was there, i was actually beginning to feel ashamed that i had spent six bucks fifty on this movie.

my inner monologue told me that i had enough self-respect left to choose life.

and so i left the cinema, and didn’t look back, lest i see the destruction facing the rest of the audience, and turn to a pillar of salt.

in the hope of purifying my spirit, i decided to step into the next screen and see what was playing there.

then i visited the next screen.

and the next.

‘tyler perry’s meet the browns’

‘drillbit taylor’

‘vantage point’

‘10 000 bc’ (on which more in the next thefilmtalk episode)

and, sweet merciful lord

’superhero movie’

after my embarrassment had dissipated, i was faced with a terrible question, one that my colleague mr loe has been asking himself for far longer than i:

do notable exceptions ultimately do nothing so much as prove the rule:

that cinema is dead?

r.i.p.

ladies and gentlemen it’s hard to believe - but this week sees three significant film-related deaths, with the sad losses of anthony minghella, arthur c clarke, and paul scofield.

jett loe on www.thefilmtalk.com has already said that minghella was a genuine ‘big’ film maker, and nick james, editor of ’sight and sound’ suggests that he was the natural heir to david lean; all i’ll add is that i never saw a film by him that i didn’t like, and i could watch ‘the talented mr ripley’ any time - for its rhythm, for its performances, for its music, and for the way it gets under the skin of how loneliness can turn into neurosis.

what do you say about arthur c clarke? i grew up with his ‘mysterious world’ tv show; i can replay his gutteral voice in my mind, i had my imaginative horizons expanded when i read his book ‘rendezvous with rama’; but, beyond all that, ‘2001′ is one of those movies that leaves me feeling like i’ve seen the greatest film ever made, every time i see it. people suggest that all he brought to it was scientific nuance - but his sense of wonder at the possibility of there being intelligent life elsewhere in the universe is clear.

and then there is paul scofield. ‘a man for all seasons’, ‘king lear’, ‘quiz show’, ‘the crucible’ - do yourself a favour: take your pick, and watch one this weekend. he may have had the accent of a pompous theatrical knight - but this guy knew how to act.

the return of film talk

all good things to those who wait - after a nearly 9 month long hiatus, enough time for a new human life to be created, jet tloe and i have returned to our podcast, now re-born and re-christened 'the film talk'. find it on i-tunes or at thefilmtalk.com

and let us know what you think.

the moral pulse of the oscars

The Oscars are a little under two weeks from now - with the threat of the writer's strike leading to an unexpected interruption of one of the most surreal nights of the pop culture year now gone. Rich and famous folk slapping each other on the back, handing out gold statuettes for works of art that many of us haven't seen. It has always surprised me how the winning speeches rarely seem to mention the films that have led to their success – family members, agents, even pets get name-checked – but few awardees talk about the feelings the film may have stirred in the audience. It's as if the heady emotions that are caused at the cinema are too … human … to talk about at something so tawdry as an awards ceremony. Just imagine Jack Nicholson or Nicole Kidman or Will Ferrell discoursing on questions such as the power dynamics in The Godfather, or the sense of loss in American Beauty, or the hope exemplified in Magnolia on the Kodak Theatre stage, and you'll get the picture.

But every now and then, of course, we get the kind of standout moment exemplified by Michael Moore's none-too-subtle attempt at culturally impeaching the president by invoking both the Dixie Chicks and Pope John Paul II at the red-carpetless ceremony that took place just a few days after the war in Iraq began in 2003. In spite of its clunkiness, here at least was a sincere stab at using one of the biggest platforms on earth to make a difference for the common good.

The interesting thing this year is that the films speak for themselves as ethical statements. Each of the five Best Picture nominees represents a high quality attempt at exploring a question of morality, and each takes its purpose seriously enough to propose a response that could stand alongside the kind of ethical positions people who seek to embody progressive spirituality might take.

To continue reading this post on the God's Politics blog, click here.

remembering john o'donohue

The following is taken from a short address I gave as part of the memorial service for John O’Donohue, which was held in Galway on Saturday 2nd February 2008. The photo to the right is of two pilgrims with the beautiful John, in September 2007.

The first time I had a proper conversation with John O'Donohue, it ended with him responding to my invitation for him to participate in a peace-building initiative in Belfast by saying,
‘I think I’m beginning to become involved’. At the time he was referring only to a speaking engagement, but little did I know that he was also going to become involved in my life as a beloved friend, one of the most life-enhancing people I’ve ever known, and a man so in touch with his real self that his goodness was always on the surface, no matter what was going on in his life.

The last time I spent a day alone with him was in July last year, in this very city, beginning only a few hundred yards from where I stand right now. We had arranged to meet on a Sunday evening, but by 9 o’clock that morning I was experiencing an attack of anxiety and depression, no rare thing for a writer, but all I wanted to do was to go home and be alone in my own space.

When I rang John to cancel our evening, he happened to be on the outskirts of the city, and he insisted that we at least meet for 15 minutes. We found ourselves at the McDonalds restaurant car park by the Omniplex cinema – a place which ordinarily I would not consider sacred territory, but now I believe proves John’s assertion that everything can be holy. He bought me both an orange juice and a coffee, invoking his notorious over-reliance on quoting advertisements for L’Oreal haircare products, and telling me he’d get me both ‘because you’re worth it’.

He then said words that I will always hold in my heart; ‘If you need to be in your own space to be depressed, I totally understand, but if all you’re going to do is be depressed, then come and spend the day with me, and we can be depressed together. Because I love you today, and I will love you forever.’

I think you’ll agree that it is a far better deal to be depressed with John O’Donohue than to be depressed on your own. and so, even though his day was busy, we spent the next 24 hours together, as I went with him to the anniversary mass he celebrated for an old friend, and onto his home at Gleann Treasna, where we talked about depression and anxiety, and I felt the healing balm of his friendship over cigars and whiskey by the fire.

I cooked him dinner, and we ate as a spectacular burnt orange sun went down. After dinner, we watched the Coen Brothers’ deliriously funny and smart film version of Homer’s Odyssey ‘O Brother Where Art Thou?’, and laughed the kind of deep laughter that comes only when friends have let their guard down. After the movie, he hugged me goodnight, and I went to sleep on his profoundly uncomfortable sofa. In the morning, he made me porridge and coffee, and then I drove back to Belfast, filled with a sense of well-being, and with insights into my own life that still reverberate in me today, but most of all, with the knowledge of the love of my beloved friend.

********************************

Several years ago, John O’Donohue said to me, ‘I think I’m beginning to become involved’, and it is one of the richest blessings and deepest privileges of my life to acknowledge here today that, for those of us whom he loved, he is still involved.

Juno

Last night I finally saw Juno, Roger Ebert's favorite film of 2007 and recipient of four Oscar nominations, which has as its center the story of an unplanned pregnancy and the people affected by it. The protagonist, Juno MacGuff, played by Ellen Page in one of those so-good-she's-either-brilliant-or-really-like-that-in-real-life performances, is a misfit attracted to her male mirror image. Wiser beyond her years, slightly jaded by life and negotiating the pitfalls of the high school psychological assault course, she responds to her pregnancy by initially seeking an abortion – and the nonchalance with which she is treated is the only thing sadder than the unthinking speed with which she makes the decision. She is greeted by a lone protestor – the sole representative of institutional Christianity in the movie – as young as her, who, while a welcome change from the angry fundamentalist stereotype, may know as little about adult life as Juno does about the experience of pregnancy she's about to have. But something unsettles Juno, and she is unable to go through with the termination. Instead, she plans to have the child and help a couple seeking to adopt.

And that's it – the rest of the film is a deceptively simple story, taking Juno through the following months, her relationship with family, her best friend, and Paulie Bleeker – the dude she hung out with a little too late one night. There's not much to the tale at first glance, but I found the way in which it is told (by writer Diablo Cody and director Jason Reitman – son of Ivan, who brought us Ghostbusters and the wonderful presidential satire Dave) – so utterly beguiling that by the time the film was over I wanted to go straight back to the start to rediscover these characters all over again.

Click here to continue reading this post on the God's Politics blog.

Sweeney Todd and the spiral of violence

Tim Burton's striking and gruesome film adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's musical 'Sweeney Todd' made me feel alternately impressed by Johnny Depp's singing talent and wince at the violence. The story of a 19th century barber who avenges the loss of his wife and daughter by providing the closest shave ever to a litany of customers including the judge who caused his pain left me preoccupied by thoughts closer to home.

If the film is trying to make a serious point, it is that Sweeney's spiral of violence never ends. The previous night I had attended a meeting of the Consultative Group on the Past – a body established by the UK Government to examine methods of helping the people of Northern Ireland to address the legacy of our own violent recent history. Two things were clear from the comments made at this meeting by members of the public: first, that the levels of genuine sorrow in this society are unfathomable – families ripped apart, minds taken to the edge of destruction, small communities shattered. This is real, and not interpretation. Second, we often lack the ability to empathise with the pain of the 'other' community. It is all too easy to see 'our' pain as exclusive, and to become blind to the suffering of the community on the other side of a political divide.
Continue reading this post on the God's Politics blog.

i'm not there

there's a degree to which there could be no other title for a bob dylan biopic than 'i'm not there', todd haynes' never less than intriguing take on the life of the man who either represents dedication to hiding greater than any other artist, or reveals all there is to know in his music.

it's a very smart idea to have six actors play characters inspired by the dylan myth; something feels entirely right about having a young black kid, a woman, and richard gere all stand in for different aspects/eras/stories from his life. the film's stunning design - image and sound - conceal a deceptively simple core: nobody knows the real dylan, so maybe there's no real dylan there at all, or, more likely, maybe he is everything we want him to be.

i found myself checking in and out of the movie - i felt it could do with a little tightening, but then again, perhaps its looseness is the point - though it's undeniably thrilling in places. when the 'real' bob shows up in the last moments of the film, in archive footage playing his harmonica, i had the strangest experience: i've never been that interested in bob dylan as a person, though of course some of the music is unrepeatably marvellous. but after a couple of hours of mining the potential pasts of this keystone cultural figure, seeing his 'real' face, hearing his 'real' music was an emotional grace note to compare with the films that make us all cry.

youth without youth

i'm returning to writing about film after j o'd's funeral, partly because there was nothing he and i enjoyed more than a rant about the movies. we would have had a long whiskey-fuelled argument about this one:

francis coppola has thankfully returned to actually directing films rather than simply paying other people to do so; he has finally sorted out his finances with a pretty magnificent vineyard business; and with his american zoetrope magazine gives a heck of a lot back to the kind of people whom i guess remind him of himself when he was younger - people who want to do nothing so much as tell stories in the cinema.

it's over ten years since his last film, and in that time he has tried and failed to mount an enormous film with an enormous name - 'megalopolis' - what would have probably been a sci-fi amazement; but in the past couple of years he turned his attention to the romanian philosopher and cultural theorist mircea eliade, and specifically his novella 'youth without youth', a story of a professor determined to find the original language of the human species, and who is led on a mysterious journey when being struck by lightning leads him to regress into his own youth.

some critics have suggested that this material would have made a great science fiction thriller, but thank god coppola decided to let his inner avant gardist out of the box. for his film of 'youth without youth' is more akin to a david lynch movie than the linear stories beloved by populist directors, and in that respect, has more to say. and while 'youth without youth' is a bit of a mess - it's alternately incredibly boring and capable of stunning beauty - it is also clearly the work of the man who made 'apocalypse now', 'the conversation', and particularly 'the godfather part 2' - its fractured narrative reminds me especially of the latter. of course, its story of a man ageing in the wrong direction, and too fast, also reminds me of 'jack', the nadir of coppola's career; but that's what you get when francis decides to put all his energy into something. you have to take the bloatedness along with the artistic amazements. (oh, and the best tim roth performance since 'planet of the apes'. i mean that as a compliment.)

what would the original human language sound like? what would it mean if we could hear it? is love the only force that transcends everything else? probably. i'm pretty sure francis coppola thinks so, and i'm glad he's back in the game that he plays best. 'youth without youth' is a strange film that manages to be monotonous and thrilling at the same time. it will leave you scratching your head in frustration at some scenes, and desperate to see some other parts of it again. if you care about cinema, you should see it.

John O'Donohue, 1956-2008, and continuing forever

I'm deeply saddened to report that my friend the Irish priest, poet and philosopher John O’Donohue, died suddenly on Thursday 3rd January 2008, and I'd like to share some thoughts about him.

John O’Donohue was my friend. We had been getting to know each other for almost four years now – a lifetime in our transient world – the very world that John’s words sought to slow down. I felt that we had in some sense adopted each other as compadres on the spiritual journey – a 50-something former priest taking into his life a 30-something former evangelical; both of us bound by our common Irish heritage, love of cinema, and fondness for sipping what he insisted on referring to as ‘firewater’. We spent many hours talking on the phone, eating together, and engaging in two of our favourite pursuits: whiskey and talking about movies.

He had a way with words that made you feel whole again – he created a space with language, both spoken and written, that felt like the home you never knew you were missing, but now never wanted to leave.

His work on retrieving the earthiness of celtic spirituality and helping make sense of it in a postmodern world is so profound that its impact has not yet been fully felt, and it represents something rare in a consumerist, post-Britart culture: a work of art that will outlast its author.

He managed also to write with the utmost seriousness and care for language, making his books the kind that you read slowly, savouring each page; meanwhile, his public talks were characterised by an indelicate Irish charm and the kind of wit that leads to laughter so deep it makes you feel like you belong.

What many may not know is that in addition to his ministry in the Catholic priesthood, and latterly as a writer and speaker, he was a serious environmental activist, helping to spearhead a small group that successfully prevented the despoilment of the Burren, one of Ireland’s most stunning natural landscapes. He put his reputation on the line to save something worth preserving, even being prepared to go to prison to do so.

In his activism, as well as his writing and speaking, and most of all, in his life, he wanted people to have shelter from the storms their lives would bring; when I once told him of my own struggles with serious depression and anxiety he clapped his hands together in a gesture of defiance and almost shouted at me: ‘May those feckin devils stay far from your door and NEVER TOUCH YOU AGAIN. You are worth far more than you think.’ His presence in my life made me believe it.

John knew that we live in the intersection of the sacred and the profane, and he wanted to nudge us in the direction of understanding that holiness has more to do with being aware of the light around us than moral puritanism. In the introduction to his most recent book ‘Benedictus’, published only a couple of months ago, he writes of how in any given day, some of us humans will experience the shock of being told of the sudden death of a friend. John wanted us to be tender to the fact that the faces of strangers we meet every day all hide secrets that are both divine and tragic. We do not always know who among us is suffering some unnameable torment, nor who is rejoicing at the blessing of a lifetime.

Last night, I became one of the people he wrote about – when I received an email (another manifestation of this world’s transience) informing me of his peaceful death, while asleep, on holiday in France. It is bewildering to note that a man who brought so much life around him is dead. But it is also vital to remember that he saw death as a path to freedom. He had spent so much time ministering with the dying – one of the greatest privileges of ministry, as far as he was concerned – that I felt he was, while totally committed to living life to the full, somehow also looking forward to his own death. Not in a morbid sense, but simply because he did believe that our own death is a step forward. He often said ‘when you enter into freedom, possibility comes to meet you’ – I imagine that he is, right now, experiencing a kind of freedom about which he would – at the very least - write some pretty marvellous poetry. It is hard to begrudge him his death when part of him was so ready for it.

I wonder how he’d describe it. For those of us left behind, well, we miss him dearly, and are grateful for the spaces he opened in our lives. I find it almost impossible to believe that he is gone; but if he was right about his own future, we will meet again.


A BLESSING FOR EQUILIBRIUM.
BY JOHN O’DONOHUE, from ‘Benedictus – A Book of Blessings’

Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,
May the music of laughter break through your soul.

As the wind wants to make everything dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.

Like the freedom of the monastery bell,
May clarity of mind make your eyes smile.

As water takes whatever shape it is in,
So free may you be about who you become.

As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,
May a sense of irony give you perspective.

As time remains free of all that it frames,
May fear or worry never put you in chains.

May your prayer of listening deepen enough
To hear in the distance the laughter of God.

Where does 'The Golden Compass' lead?

Here's the good news: The Golden Compass does not promote atheism. It isn't going to steal your children. It does not signal the end of hope for religion in the West. That's the good news. Here's the bad news: it promotes the same, shallow "don't touch my stuff or I'll kill you" message that appears in so much of popular culture. But more than this, in spite of delightful visual imagery, and a couple of performances in which it's clear the actors are having fun (an icy Nicole Kidman, and the great English theatrical knight Derek Jacobi to name two), it's simply a boring film.

At its centre there is at least an attempt at exploring interesting territory – we are in a parallel universe in which everyone is accompanied by a 'daemon' – an animal representation of their personality, and a comfort in times of trouble. Meanwhile, a shadowy authoritarian body, "the Magisterium", is abducting children and performing daemon amputations. Too much daemon, too much free will, too little for the Magisterium to do.

The religious resonances are obvious, but the film doesn't make any explicit commentary on Christianity. Rather, its enemy is the misuse of power to force people to think or act against the exercise of freedom.

To read the rest of this post on the God's Politics blog, click here.

No Country for Old Men

When a film ends with the recounting of a dream in which a weather-beaten, life-weary man searches for the fire his father is building to warm them, it's impossible not to think of the love we all yearn for and can hopefully muster. It's also a welcome spiritual respite when that film has seduced its audience on a journey into a hell of the relentless violence that follows a man after he steals drug money in the naïve belief that its owners might ignore him, and the slow-moving chase that ensues when a truly psychopathic person pursues the man and the cash. No Country for Old Men, the new picture from the Coen Brothers, based on Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel, is probably the most accomplished film released this year.

I'll do my best to avoid spoilers, as it would be unfair to assume that readers have seen it. So I must skirt around the issues that cause me to praise this film so highly. In short, No Country for Old Men is a slow, thoughtful, frightening, and beguiling film about the selfishness of people and the desperate need to restore the virtue of community bonds. Its central character – called Anton Chigurh, and played by Javier Bardem – is one of the most titanic characterizations of evil intent I've ever seen in a film. He simply kills what gets in his way, and even plays sport with some of his potential victims - inviting them to toss a coin to determine their fate. Josh Brolin is the man who finds the money belonging to Chigurh's employers, and Tommy Lee Jones the sheriff baffled by the trail of death that ensues in their wake.

To read the rest of this post on the God's Politics blog, click here.

lions for lambs

In some senses Robert Redford is the father of modern independent filmmaking, not to mention the patron saint of Hollywood liberalism – his Sundance Film Festival has launched a couple of dozen major careers, and his concern for progressive environmental policies is well known. And United Artists used to be known for making the kind of movie that entertained and provoked at the same time – from 'In the Heat of the Night' to 'Being There' to 'Rain Man'.

After a decade or more in the doldrums, the studio has been resurrected by Tom Cruise, and the first film released under this banner is the Redford-helmed 'Lions for Lambs' – a tub-thumping intellectual thriller that pits brains against brawn as a liberal university professor, a neo-conservative senator, and a smart journalist duke it out for the prize of 'who gets to direct the war on terror' - which the film shows still to be fought by the poor.

Such a film could have been a thoughtful exploration of the nature of American liberalism post-9/11, a call to action, or an intelligent treatment of the questions of how to respond to injustice without repeating it (or overcoming evil with good, as the New Testament would have it). Yet sadly it ends up a wasted opportunity - with mostly old arguments being rehearsed once more in a film whose performances are flat and is without visual interest.

There is, however, some merit in 'Lions for Lambs'...Read the rest of this post on the God's Politics blog.

rendition

Some thoughts on the practice of extraordinary rendition - The fact that we know such practices are employed in our name should have been enough of a wake up call – but as yet, the groaning near-silence of free people whose leaders exercise injustice on our behalf continues. Are we prepared to do more than go to meetings, or to pray, or to write blog posts about what is happening in our world? What will a non-violent Reformation require of us? - if you want to read more of my thoughts on this, check out the God's Politics blog...

surprising wonderful movies of the week number 1 and 2

in advance of leaving new zealand the night before last i watched one more film with mike and rose riddell - 'samsara' is a quite remarkable film about a tibetan buddhist monk journeying between spirit and flesh. we first see him returning to his monastery after spending three years' meditating in a cave; but on his attempt at re-entering community life, he is occupied with sexual fantasy. having never lived a life outside the cloisters, he decides to leave the monastery to pursue the love of a good woman. this, in itself, is an intriguing premise - but the film-makers handle the subject so well that i was utterly beguiled. 'samsara' is a beguiling film, which marries an earthy story with stunning photography, seductive but realistic performances, and music that seems to arise naturally from the images. it's one of those films you feel delighted to have been introduced to.

the same goes for a very different movie that happens to address similar territory: 'it's all gone pete tong' - a glorious dramatic comedy about a mad dj who comes to a crisis point as ibiza's living god of the dancefloor. i missed this on its original release, and assumed from the marketing and the fact that it stars british comedian paul kaye that it would be a zany comedy. couldn't have been more wrong. if i'd seen it in 2005 it would have been one of my favourites of the year; and paul kaye proves that you can teach an old dog new tricks: he's a very fine actor indeed.

both 'samsara' and 'it's all gone pete tong' are films about men who need to grow up. they're also beautiful movies that will make your day.

la vie en rose

marion cotillard's performance as edith piaf in the biopic 'la vie en rose' is one of the most disturbing and real i've seen. i knew very little about this woman's life before i saw the movie; afterward, if the film is to be believed, i was reminded of the proverbial view of the artist as a person who is aching on the inside, in desperation to produce something that will achieve public recognition. the personal tragedies that seemed to colonise piaf's life, from her beginnings, raised in a brothel, to losing a child, a lover, and her physical well-being, are related in an unconventional and ultimately quite brilliant cinematic style - choppy narrative, alternately sweeping and staccato photography, and of course incomparable music. at the end of the film, cotillard as piaf sings 'je ne regrette rien'. i'll never smile at that song again.

as it is in heaven

saw a beautiful film a couple of days ago down at mike and rose riddell's house - if there's anyone out there who hasn't read something by mike, i heartily encourage you to do so forthwith. godzone and threshold of the future are great places to start. the film they showed me - mike's second favourite after magnolia, which is high praise indeed - is from sweden and called 'as it is in heaven'. it's about an orchestra conductor who returns to his home village after a heart attack to recuperate, and ends up working with the local church choir. it deals with similar themes to 'babette's feast', 'together', and 'chocolat'. grace, community, forgiveness, domestic violence, the real treasure lying within - all these are here, along with some of the most mystical and ecstatic music i've heard in a film. it's honest about the need to hold people accountable for their mistakes (but gives more hope to 'sinners' than 'chocolat' - which to my mind negated all that was good about its message by making one of the community an outcast; 'as it is in heaven', however, finds a way to both hold accountable, and offer the possibility of change to its most violent character.)

the last scene of this film is one of those perfect cinematic representations of our best hopes for life lived out loud, in the presence of loved ones, with no fear of what others may think. some viewers might find this film a little on the sentimental side, but it made me want to dance like no one's watching.

p.s. kudos to michael nyqvist for one of the most beguiling performances in recent years.

'A pro-lynching movie even liberals can love'

It's intriguing how many current films address questions of revenge and justice. Like all cinematic epidemics, this is a mixed bag, from Quentin Tarantino's alternately boring and horrifying car-crash fest Death Proof, just released on DVD, to the slasher-style terror of Death Sentence starring Kevin Bacon, to the mature and moving reflection on justice and fatherhood in 3:10 to Yuma, to the ostensibly more thoughtful treatment of vengeance in Jodie Foster's new film The Brave One.

Continue reading this post on the God's Politics blog.