The Lady Vanishes (1938)

I don't consider myself much of a connoisseur of Hitchcock films.  I've seen my fair share -- "The 39 Steps" was my first, and "Rope" may be my favorite --  but my personal preference is for more recent films.  On the other hand, whenever I discover a new Hitchcock film I know for a fact that I'm in for a treat, so occasionally I carve out to time to watch one.  Thus I found myself watching "The Lady Vanishes," one of Hitchcock's last works before he moved to produce for American studios, and the film that firmly established his early reputation.

The first half-hour or so of the film is quite slow.  A large number of passengers are waiting for a train that has been snowed in, and must stay overnight at an already crowded inn.  We first see the events of the film through the eyes of two British gentlemen, Charters and Coldicott, utterly enraptured by the sport of cricket and utterly enraged at their inability to learn the score. They meet a young happy couple on their honeymoon -- a secret kept from both their real spouses -- and a chatterbox of an English governess, Ms. Froy (played by the inimitable Dame May Whitty).  At length we shift perspectives to Iris, a beautiful but rather spoiled young lady vacationing in Europe on her distant fiance's money. She bribes the innkeeper to stop the noise coming from the room above her, and meets the charming and worldly Gilbert, who was trying to transcribe a local country dance. Finally, as the night concludes, we return to Ms. Froy, listening in raptures to the trilling melody of a serenading guitarist.

As the music ends, the guitarist is strangled.

Events quickly accelerate. As they board the train, Iris is hit on the head with large flower-pot intended for Ms. Froy.  She manages to get on board, but suffers a concussion, and when she awakes, Ms. Froy has vanished, and none of the other passengers remember seeing her.  Only Gilbert believes her, and it takes him some time for that as well.  They search high and low for Ms. Froy, but to little avail.

The great joy of the film is in Hitchcock's ability to construct a compelling 'conspiracy,' for each person in the compartment must have a compelling reason for forgetting Ms. Froy.  Either they are all in on the conspiracy, or each is lying for reasons of their own.  That slow half-hour at the beginning of the film establishes those independent reasons, such that the final effect doesn't feel nearly as artificial or hodge-podge as it might have otherwise seemed.

There are a few sequences in this film that stand out to me. The fight in the baggage compartment between Gilbert and Doppo the Magnificent (a magician famous for his "vanishing woman" act...) is somewhat suspenseful but mostly uproarious, as Gilbert invites the fish-out-of-water Iris to help him fight.  Likewise, the climactic scene has moments of hilarity as the several English gentlemen find themselves (to their chagrin and disbelief) engaging in a gun battle.  The plot pressed onward, and the suspense is constantly maintained, but such moments and little asides are a genuine delight.

Unlike some of his bleaker works, the conclusion of the film is pretty unambiguously happy -- though Charters and Coldicott are disappointed when the fourth match of their cricket team is canceled due to flooding.  The MacGuffin is satisfactorily revealed, and there is a moment of romantic bliss in the penultimate scene involving Gilbert, Iris, and her fiance -- and no, I won't say more than that. There's nothing terrible profound about this film, but it is decidedly entertaining, and that's good enough for me

Gnomeo and Juliet (2011)

I'll admit, I was pretty skeptical about this film. An adaptation of Shakespeare's immortal romance, starring garden gnomes?  Within the first few minutes of the movie, however, I was hooked.  A gnome walks onto the stage and, in what I can only describe as a Veggie Tales voice, apologizes in advance for how many times that story has already been told. Without further ado, he wipes out a massive scroll, and begins reading Shakespeare's prologue. Spoiler warning: he doesn't finish.

If you don't enter the theater knowing this particular story in advance, my feelings towards you would probably be categorized as: "Oh, how cute!  And how many years old are you?" To reduce it to essentials: boy meets girl, boy is supposed to hate girl, but boy thinks girl is kinda cute, and their doom is thereby assured.  Sure, there are other details like "boy kills girl's brother, and girl wishes he hadn't," but those are really of secondary importance to the gloriously doomed romance.


My favorite brand of humor is probably self-aware humor, and this movie has it in spades. The movie is full to brimming with Shakespeare references, whether in the name of the two neighbor in whose yards this gnome-gang warfare is set, in the name of the movie company (it's a famous duo, and it's not "Starsky and Hutch") , or in the giant talking statue of Shakespeare located in the nearby park. Some of the dialogue is admittedly groan-worthy, but there are several particularly clever lines.  On one occasion Juliet encounters the neighbor's dog and pushes it away, "Out!  Out!", whereupon the neighbor is heard searching for the dog, "Damn Spot!" Another scene shows two gnomes are searching for a mysterious vandal, and decide to split up... only to realize that their feet are joined to the same base.  The first gnome shrugs, "I wish I could quit you," and they continue on their merry way.

Some of the voice work is also top notch: James McAvoy and Emily Blunt voice the two leads, Michael Caine voices Juliet's father and the leader of the red gnomes, while Maggie Smith (see also: Professor McGonagall from the Harry Potter series) voices Gnomeo's mother and leader of the blue gnomes. There are more than a few funny moments involving Featherstone, a rather demented pink flamingo played by the legendary voice actor Jim Cummings (who at points seems to channel Robin Williams as the Genie). Meanwhile, Jason Statham is perfectly cast as the villainous Tybalt, and the show is nearly stolen by Ashley Jensen, who plays Juliet's "nurse," the boy-crazy frog Nanette.

Elton John was a producer of the movie and it definitely shows: the 70's- and 80's-themed soundtrack, while it fits the energy of the piece, tends to get in the way of some of the scenes.  The ending is particular was a bit too much -- I felt like it just hadn't earned the right to be quite so jubilantly cheesy and saccharine.  On the whole, though, it was an energetic and unabashedly self-referential comedy that earned its keep and at least temporarily sated my appetite for cornball humor.  If you liked the film "Over the Hedge" -- or, better yet, you liked that film but for the pontificating on social issues -- you'll almost certainly enjoy this film.

Kirill Yeskov: The Last Ringbearer

Some things in the world you just know. Tigger's butt will always be made out of rubber and springs, Aurora will invariably find the one remaining sewing machine in the kingdom in the secret passage to the abandoned tower just before her sixteenth birthday, and Sauron will forever be remembered as the personification of True Evil among the inhabitants of Middle Earth.  But ah, the skeptic asks: can you ever really know?

Enter, stage left: Kirill Yeskov, world-renown arachnologist and paleontologist by day, author of "Lord of the Rings" fan-fiction by night. Back in 1999, he published "The Last Ringbearer," a revisionist history of Middle Earth. Dismissing Tolkien's fantasy epic as hagiography ("history is written by the victors," his epigram reminds us), Yeskov rewrites the saga and its aftermath from the perspective of Mordor. The battle between the inhuman armies of Mordor and the free peoples of the West becomes in his hands a contest of the Elvish masters of magic against the technological and industrial innovations of Mordor. The Elves fear that Mordorian tech would one day prove their undoing, and so manipulate the Luddite populations of Gondor and Rohan (along with the wizards' Council at Isengard, over the objections of Saruman the Wise) into armed conflict with Mordor.

It is here that the novel's classically Russian heritage becomes evident: Yeskov demonstrates an impressive grasp of military history, strategy, and geopolitics. It turns out that Mordor was not bent on world domination, but was at a strategic impasse that forced it into war. Mordor relied heavily on foreign imports of food and raw materials, which flowed through trade routes to the West, particularly through Gondor.  Raids on such caravans would quickly push Mordor to the brink of starvation and stagnation, and force it into war.  Strategically, however, a defensive war was impossible, for though its mountainous borders were impenetrable, Mordor could not survive under siege, lacking an internal supply of food. Moreover, located between the two contingents of its enemy (Rivendell and Lorien, home of the Elves, to the North, with the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan to the West), it was almost ideally situated for an offensive strike.

All of this occurs within the first few pages of the novel.  With this new realization of Mordorian geopolitics, it is almost impossible not to sympathize with their plight, nor their ultimately catastrophic failure to secure the necessary leverage to ensure food delivery and bring about peace.

Early on in the novel, Yeskov forces us to re-examine the list of races.  In his world, there are Elves and men and wizards.  But the trolls are simply rustic mountain-dwelling men who specialize in masonry; orcs are no longer demonic-looking dwellers of darkness, but ordinary men living in the shadow of the Ash Mountains; and both dwarves and hobbits were legends invented for the pleasure of credulous Gondorian ears

Moreover, the original cast of characters are reimagined. Aragorn is a Machiavellian schemer who deals in Dark Magic to secure the allegiance of the dead soldiers of Dunharrow, and who wins his throne from the rightful heir Faramir by blackmail and an invented lineage -- though even he is far outmatched in scheming by his Elvish "handler" Arwen. In the character of Gandalf, the author's evidently Soviet sympathies come to the fore: for the Grey Wizard is an oddly villainous cross between Adolf Hitler (seeking a "Final Solution" to the Mordorian problem) and Ronald Reagan (describing Mordor as "an Evil Empire"). Only Faramir and Eowyn remain of the original cast with their nobility intact. As for the infamous Ring of Power, it was a legend invented by the Nazgul (ancient wizards, counterparts to the Council of Isengard but unafraid of technology and therefore sympathetic to Mordor) to distract the power-hungry Western kingdoms.

After a few chapters of ret-conning the final defeat of Mordor's forces (Sauron evidently met his heroic end fighting as an ordinary captain among his men at the Battle of the Black Gate), Yeskov presents his own main characters: a field medic from Umbar, a port-city south of Mordor, and an Orocuen scout.  These two principals propel the story to its conclusion, for to them is entrusted the last hope of Mordor: they must sever the connection between Middle Earth and the Ardan world of magic, and thereby drive out the Elves from their positions of dominance.

Revisionism and ret-conning aside, this is a fantastic work.  (After some consideration, I've decided I am quite pleased with that inadvertent pun, and will let it stand).  Yeskov's influences from classical Russian literature are demonstrable, especially in his Tolstoyan grasp of military strategy and politics. There is a fascinating spy v. spy interlude that verges on a danse macabre -- undertones of Liszt's "Totentanz" seem to periodically ring out in this high-stakes game of death.  There is tragedy, high comedy, hints of mythology, and even romance.  It must be said, however, that there are several scenes with sexual content that would make Tolkien blush.  I don't recall anything explicit being described, merely discussed, but it may be too much for some readers.

The epilogue is decidedly ingenious as well. Hearkening to a similar historian's conceit, the prologue to "The Princess Bride," the author claims to have received his account from the folktales passed down by the descendants of the original Orocuen scout.  He also derides the popular Gondorian media for its vulgar and politically correct depictions of the tale, and includes a delicious passing shot at film festival critics, who (fearing the labels of racist, sexist, homophobe) give the vulgar cinematic trash every award in the book.

Despite the sometimes clunky translation, occasional anachronisms, and rare but decidedly off-putting revelations of the author's Soviet sympathies, I found this work a fascinating counterpoint to Tolkien's original.  Tolkien's method, as a philologist, was to create a world and a mythology from languages.  Yeskov's is to create a world and a social reality from a geological and geopolitical climate. I am too unread in Tolkien's other works to know whether this tale is compatible with the rest of the official history of Middle Earth, but as far as I could tell it was grounded in as comprehensive and coherent a world as the original. I'm not at all sure that "The Last Ringbearer" would appeal to fans of Tolkien's work, but on the whole I would consider it one of the best works of 'fan fiction' I have ever read.

**Note: the Tolkien estate has thus far prevented publication of an English translation of the original Russian novel.  However, at the end of last year an English version did appear, and last month a full English translation was vetted and approved by the author.  It can be found, in full and for free, on the translator's blog at the following address: http://ymarkov.livejournal.com/270570.html.  Enjoy the read.**

The Green Hornet (2011)

Besides "The Adventures of Tintin," I didn't read comic books when I was younger. I still don't. But due to the recent spate of films derived from Marvel and DC comics, my interest in these characters and stories has grown. My interest was thus piqued when I heard about a new comic book character that would soon be arriving in cinemas: Britt Reid, alias the Green Hornet, and his sidekick Kato.

 
Britt Reid (played by Seth Rogen) is the son of a newspaper magnate, who dies and leaves him the corporate empire without any idea of how to run it. But with loads of money and a sense of adventure, Britt recruits his father's resident mechanic/barista Kato (Jay Chou), as well as amateur criminologist Lenore Case (Cameron Diaz), and goes out to fight the criminal underworld of Los Angeles. He fights the city's resident criminal mastermind Chudnofsky (the delightfully self-conscious Christoph Waltz) and the obviously corrupt District Attorney Scanlon (David Harbour).

I'm not sure whether it comes across in the original comics, but Britt Reid is, at least in this film, is almost spectacularly unlikeable.  He epitomizes the "spoiled playboy" stereotype, but unlike Batman/Bruce Wayne, that is his actual personality.  There is no change of heart that causes him to yearn for justice; there is no deep philosophical or metaphysical yearning to make his deeds meaningful. His inaugural act as the Green Hornet is to decapitate the statue of his dead father. He is a coward, a boor, an over-sexed miscreant, and abusive friend, and a petulant man-child.  He has no sense of personal responsibility, no sense of humility, and really no sense of virtue whatsoever.  There is one redeeming moment towards the end of the film where he refuses a bribe from Scanlon, but that decision was borne equally out of pride as out of Reid's fledgling moral idealism. I found it totally impossible to like the character, and nearly impossible to root for him.

Besides the catastrophe that is the main character, the film is a mixed bag. The sidekick Kato is not only highly proficient, but also far more responsible and creative than Reid. Even if it would have been a travesty to the original comics series, I would have much preferred a movie in which Kato were the real Green Hornet who was using Britt Reid's resources and general cluelessness to fight crime on his own. Britt Reid shouldn't have been the protagonist, but instead the plucky comic relief. However, Kato was obliged to remain the buffoon's valet, and Jay Chou's acting did nothing to elevate this character from mediocrity.

As for Lenore Case, the criminologist, this role was mostly reduced to spouting random plot points from gang movies and crime films. To give her character depth, she was shoehorned into the 'love interest' role as well. But, in light of Britt Reid's utter lack of charm, this sideplotmostly mostly consists of Cameron Diaz acting alternately offended and incredulous at Britt's offensiveness.

The secondary villain, the District Attorney Scanlon, was utterly unremarkable as well.  The third-act twist which reveals him to be corrupt (having bribed and then killed Britt Reid's father, on behalf of the crime lord Chudnofsky) was so clearly foreshadowed, it was hard not to think about his "sudden but inevitable betrayal" while watching the earlier scenes.

Perhaps the sole redeeming factor of the film was the villain, Chudnofsky. He belongs to the "old guard" of the criminal underworld, who'd risen by hard work and high explosives. He remains insecure, however, both because of his unpronounceable name and because he's constantly overshadowed by more image-conscious criminals. We first meet him in one such encounter: he rapidly dispatches four armed guards then casually asks the drug kingpin (an uncredited appearance by James Franco) for tips on improving his public image. Waltz plays this scene beautifully, and his character's plot arc (he ultimately becomes the quip-spouting caped criminal, "Bloodnofsky") is a beauty to behold.  More's the pity, for those gems were encased in the thick walls suffering from narrative dry rot. "The Green Hornet" was an immense disappointment.

Orson Scott Card: Enchantment

Orson Scott Card is one of the most recognized writers of science fiction and fantasy today, perhaps best known for writing Ender's Game and its sequels.  A list of his other novels, stories, and series is pretty staggering on its own, spanning the sub-genres of political thriller, time-travel, space travel, magical fantasy, and historical fiction.

One of his lesser-known stand-alone works is the novel "Enchantment," which may be broadly characterized as a modern retelling of the Sleeping Beauty myth. In fact it is a meta-fictional take on some of the classic Grimm fairy tales, Slavonic folk stories, and Jewish myths, with an ample helping of Cold War politics and time travel to take the edge off. It features Card's characteristic chapter format with rotating multi-persona perspectives, a complex mythology of magic, pagan polytheism, and religious doctrine, and a startlingly effective love story.  There's also a complimentary self-aware reference to Mark Twain's "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court."  All told, this might be my favorite of Card's novels.

 
Most people know the story of Sleeping Beauty from the Disney version, though the original folktale probably originated in pre-medieval Europe. The story is simple: a newborn princess is cursed by the regional administrator of the International Wicked Witches Association (Cardinal Directions division), to the effect that she will die on her sixteenth birthday. Fortunately, the curse is 'alleviated' by three wise witches, presumably employed as union busters by the local warlords. Instead, the princess would merely fall into a death-like sleep on her sixteenth birthday, until woken up by True Love's Kiss (patent pending). Sure enough, the princess pricks her finger on a spindle, falls fast asleep, wakes up some time later to a random guy performing mouth-to-mouth, and naturally concludes that this is the love of her life. Happily ever after shortly ensues.

Card begins the novel focused around Ivan, a young Ukrainian boy coming to terms with his father's recent revelation that they are Jewish (his father publicly declared this so they could seek religious asylum in America). While visiting their cousin Marek, the young Ivan stumbles across a mysterious grove, with a strange beast trapped in a circular chasm that seems to be guarding a sleeping girl. Frightened of the beast, he runs away, and after his family relocates to America he shrugs off the memory (and recurring dreams) as a childhood fantasy.  He becomes a scholar of languages, specializing in Old Church Slavonic, a distant ancestor of modern Russian. He visits his cousin Marek again as a young man, to conduct research into his subject, and once again encounters the grove.  He somehow outruns the beast, a colossal stone-throwing bear, knocks it unconscious and leapfrogs the chasm.

Thus begins his adventures through time into the pre-medieval kingdom of Taina, located by the Carpathian mountains in Eastern Europe. The book marshals an impressive array of folktales and cultural anthropological knowledge to convey the distance in culture between Ivan's Ukrainian-American upbringing and the far-removed cultural mores of the land of Princess Katherina.

The chapter-by-chapter rotating viewpoints effectively roots us in the cultural differences and allows us to understand the characters far more intensively than would have otherwise been possible.  We understand and sympathize intuitively with Ivan's predicament, trying desperately to speak and understand the language (and preserve his insights for future generations) while fulfilling the kingdom's expectations of a prince and, of course, impressing the princess.  However, we also can understand the princess' dilemma of finding herself married to a man with hardly any upper-body strength, with no concept of princedom and leadership, and with very strange ideas of what is decent and what is taboo.

One of the delights of the story was when the tables were reversed -- to save Ivan's life, the two must flee ancient Taina and return to modern America.  Thus Ivan is partially vindicated and Katherina is allowed to understand how great a challenge it had been for him.  This sequence, incidentally, is also one of the weaknesses of the story -- Katherina finds it far too easy to adjust to modern life, and there are far too many easy coincidences (Ivan's mother knows magic, and his entire family has some knowledge of Old Church Slovenian, for instance). A fantasy novel may disregard normal conventions of fiction, but must develop and abide by a cogent set of rules for itself to maintain narrative coherence. Having established the 'rule' of cultural encounter from Ivan's adventures among Katherina's people, it seems to partly disregard those rules for convenience when the roles are reversed.

That's not to say the novel doesn't work. It may have simply worked too well and too easily in that particular passage. The love story between Ivan and Katherina, on the other hand, does not skimp on the challenges, and it is probably the best aspect of the story. Due to the cultural difference, misunderstandings abound, but we understand why and sympathize with the difficulty in overcoming them. This is no modern rom-com which forces obstacles in the path of lovers by means of idiocy, inanity, and simple invention.  This is closer to the Austen model of romantic comedy, where human psychology causes those obstacles to arise naturally, and where classical and Christian virtues must combine to remove them.

I have little interest in Eastern European folktales.  Of the ancient mythologies, the Greek and Roman are easily my two favorites, followed by the Norse. Slavonic folktales fail to win, place, or show in the horse-race for my loyalties. Yet I appreciated Card's obvious love for the culture, and his enthusiasm for its native stories is truly contagious. "Enchantment" is an extraordinary novel, and one I would highly recommend.

To purchase this book, check out Amazon.com:
Enchantment

Matt Baglio: The Rite

I read this book without knowing precisely what to expect.  I was interested in learning about spiritual warfare, especially from a Catholic perspective.  I knew that Father Thomas Euteneur (currently of the diocese of Palm Beach, formerly of Human Life International) had written a well-received book on the subject, Exorcism and the Church Militant. That book was unfortunately out of print, but Euteneur did recommend another work as a resource: The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist, by Matt Baglio.

Among the Catholic rites and practices, exorcism is decidedly the black sheep -- ignored whenever it's possible, and marginalized whenever it can't. Due to an explosion of reported possessions and instances of demonic warfare in Europe, specifically in Italy, the Vatican had decided to debut a course in exorcism for interested priests.  This naturally attracted a good deal of attention from local and international media, including by American journalist Matt Baglio.  Shortly after the course began, Baglio met Father Gary Thomas, a priest from San Jose, California, who had been sent by his bishop to Rome for training. Father Thomas had never witnessed an exorcism and knew virtually nothing about the subject, but was eager to learn and was soon apprenticed to a practicing exorcist, Father Carmine.

Baglio wrote The Rite as the story of Father Thomas' training. The narrative conceit is stunningly effective. Both Baglio and Father Thomas begin as a skeptic, but the book conveys their gradual exposure to the Rite and acceptance of the reality of spiritual warfare.  Baglio packs the book chock-full of anecdotes, not only from Father Thomas' experience, but from other exorcists around Italy, and various sufferers.  He also covers the theology of spiritual warfare, a historical survey of Catholic and Christian demonology, and (most intriguingly) modern medical and psychological views on demonic possession.

In an article published in The American, Baglio stated that he "wanted to take an unbiased, non-macabre, almost scientific approach to determine just what the Church actually taught about exorcism." The Rite was quite successful in this regard.  There are occasional sensational details, but on the whole Baglio conveys the surprising banality of the rite, and dispels many misconceptions that accompany the subject.  The Rite may have been too successful, in fact. It attracted the attention of Hollywood (the source of many of those misconceptions), and is the basis for the upcoming film "The Rite" (starring Anthony Hopkins as Father Carmine). Based on the trailer, I have little doubt that this film will be a typical Hollywood bastardization of the source material, but that hardly disqualifies the book as a splendid and invaluable resource for those who seek real theological and scientific content on this much-disputed area of Christian doctrine.

This was cross-posted at my theology blog, Orthodox Reflections.

Carl Olson: Will Catholics Be 'Left Behind'?

When I was younger, I had a pretty strong interest in eschatology (from eschaton - the study of the "end times").  I think my interest was primarily motivated out of a love for storytelling.  The book of Revelation has so many wonderful and terrible images that it really does draw you in to the cosmic portrait being drawn, even if the portrait is as indecipherable as modern art.  This storytelling aspect was amplified by the "Left Behind" series, which now seems ideally suited for an impressionable young mind -- a thoroughly engaging plot featuring two-dimensional characters and absolutely abysmal writing.

As I grew older, I grew more familiar with some of the views on the book of Revelations, and I realized that "Rapture theology" was far from the only orthodox approach to eschatology.  My own views were shaped decisively in my freshman and sophomore years of college, when I engaged in a study of millennialist heresies in the Middle Ages and the Reformation.  For many years prior I had studied the history of economic thought, and I was frankly stunned by the many correlations I discovered between heretical eschatology and later utopian ideologies that had secularized these false millennial doctrines. This historical background helped demonstrate to me not only the theological dangers of over-emphasizing the eschaton, but the social and philosophical ramifications as well.

This book, "Will Catholics Be 'Left Behind'?", skilfully dissects the doctrines of "Rapture theology" that are so familiar to certain Protestant circles. The organization is a bit scatter-shot, surveying historical millennailists (focusing on the proto-dispensationalist heresies of Joachim de Fiore), major dispensationalist figures (such as Darby, Scofield, and Chafer), and finally the popularizers of the Rapture (especially Hal Lindsey and Tim LaHaye).

The book analyzes and evaluates some of the crucial doctrinal underpinnings of "the Rapture," and offers considerable clarity in defining various schools and camps of Christian eschatology. The distinctions between pre-millennialist, post-millennialist, and amillennialist interpretations, along with the divisions within Rapture theology (pre-Tribulation, mid-Trib, or post-Trib), are offered and explained. Finally, from the perspective of a historically orthodox Catholic (relying on church dogma and papal encyclicals), the authors presents a critique of dispensationalist theology and a positive affirmation of Catholic doctrine on the millennium and the eschaton.

I am not a Catholic, but I found the arguments both intriguing and compelling. It taught me a good deal about the doctrinal underpinnings of dispensationalism, especially the sharp dichotomy between the nation of Israel and the Church, a "two covenants" approach to eschatology that practically entails two separate "Second Comings" -- a preliminary Rapture alongside the final Parousia. That answered one of my main questions about dispensationalism: why the Rapture was considered a doctrinal necessity in the first place. The book also surveyed some of the more vitriolic strains of anti-Catholicism among dispensationalist writers, a bigotry that almost makes me ashamed to be a Protestant. On a more positive note, the author's case for the Catholic doctrine of eschatology also delved into issues of the Church as the Body of Christ, and the role of church tradition. This work is an engaging read, and an immensely valuable resource for studying Christian doctrines of eschatology.

This was cross-posted at my theology blog, Orthodox Reflections.

To purchase this book, check out Amazon.com:
Will Catholics Be Left Behind? (Modern Apologetics Library) (See all Eschatology Books)

The Warrior's Way (2010)

I got a chance to watch this film at a preview showing, and I'm honestly not sure what to make of it.  The trailer and advertising made it sound like a wuxia Western, a cross somewhere between "House of Flying Daggers" and "Book of Eli."  It was. There was also a little "Scott Pilgrim v. the World," "The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus" and "300" thrown in just for kicks. On occasion it left me exhilarated; on other occasions it left me cold.  But in the end, I was just plain confused.

Rated "R" for strong bloody (stylized) violence.
This film is decidedly not for kids.

The story begins somewhere in Generic East Asia. The main character is played Dong-gun Jang (a South Korean superstar), his mentor is played by a Chinese actor, and the costume design and architecture looked vaguely Japanese, so more specificity is impossible. Our hero is on a quest to become The Greatest Swordsman in the World, a task which apparently involves fighting through waves of ninja henchman, dispatching the previous Greatest Swordsman (helpfully identified by subtitles), and finally killing a baby girl. It's not entirely clear how that last task is even relevant. Luckily, our laconic hero has a conscience, spares the child, and becomes a fugitive pursued by his own clan. Considering this clan consists of hordes of intimidating black-swathed ninja assassins, it's more than a little underwhelming when we learn that the clan is named "The Sad Flutes."

Our hero winds us in America, in a mostly deserted carnival town somewhere in the Badlands. The film soon introduces us to the One True Love, played by Kate Bosworth. In a note of striking originality, this is the one romantic lead in an action film that has grown up with loving parents, without any traumatic events in her life, and with the full hope and expectation of finding true love any day now. Right. What are the odds?  Anyway, our laconic hero settles into his new life, becomes the town's resident gardener and laundryman (no really), and falls in love with the jaded femme fatale. These events are accompanied by blitheringly obvious narration ("He learned that it was better to create beauty... than to cut it down") provided by the town drunk, played by "Pirates of the Caribbean" actor Geoffrey Rush.

Trouble arises, as trouble is wont to do. The town is terrorized by "The Colonel" -- a lascivious tyrant with facial disfigurement (covered a la "Phantom of the Opera") and a thing for clean teeth. In order to defeat him and his roguish henchmen, the laconic swordsman is obliged to bring out his weapon and smite them down. Unfortunately, this particular sword is like a homing beacon for ninja assassins, and so they soon arrive to join in the fun and games.

In the wake of "The Matrix," "Hero" and "300," it's hard to even imagine a film that can bring some originality in its depictions of stylized violence. This film succeeds, especially in a much-praised scene where the swordsman dispatches the guards outside the Colonel's hotel room. The sudden darkness, the strobe-light effects of the bullet holes in the walls, and the frame-by-frame detailing of the action are impressive and effective.

The greatest virtue of this film is in the visuals. It was shot entirely against green-screen, so even in scenes of excruciatingly dull dialogue, you are constantly being taken in by the magnificent vistas and breath-taking landscapes.  Even in the midst of violence, the film relishes in moments of genuine beauty.

Sadly, these moments are marred and married to other moments that aren't so beautiful. For instance, the ending is simply awful. The swordsman is told throughout the film that his nature attracts danger and would put those he loves in harm's way.  So, by the end of the film, having defeated all enemies, there is no catharsis, no realization that here at last he can find peace. The hero simply decides to walk off into the sunset alone, leaving the baby girl and his one true love behind him. The film ends... then resumes after several long seconds of darkness and silence to show him fending off ninjas in some arctic wasteland. He brandishes his sword, jumps in the air to cleave the first of his enemies... and then the film ends again.  I kid you not.

More generally, the love story is hackneyed, the jokes fall flat, and the characterizations are almost painful. Dong-gun Jang speaks his few lines with all the laconic depth of wet cement, while Kate Bosworth goes all out with the "aw-shucks" Southern belle style of over-acting. The script is as monotonous as I imagine life in a deserted carnival town in the Badlands would actually be like, so in that sense the film was very realistic. Only the action scenes and the backgrounds could redeem this film, but not even they are sufficient to warrant praise.  The film kept my interest through its run time, but I still wouldn't recommend it to others.

Thomas à Kempis: The Imitation of Christ

By Publius

The blurb on the back advertises The Imitation of Christ as "second only to the Bible as the source of religious instruction and inspiration." Whatever the historical merits of that claim, I can hardly contest it for myself.  Alongside C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces," this book was directly responsible for my spiritual rejuvenation in the summer of 2007, and has continued to inspire me ever since.

Originally published anonymously in 1418, De Imitatione Christi was written by Thomas à Kempis, subprior at the Augustinian monastery at Windesheim, in the Kingdom of Holland. It originally served as a manual for novices and junior "canons" under his charge, but it disseminated widely and became a classic in Christian devotional literature. Saint Ignatius of Loyola added it to the official index of "exercises" for the Jesuit order. John Wesley, founder of Methodism, cited it as a primary influence at his conversion.  John Newton, the slave trader-turned-abolitionist who wrote "Amazing Grace," was reading the Bible and The Imitation of Christ when he committed his life to Christ.  This is powerful stuff.

The Imitation was written in four books, translated in my edition as "Thoughts Helpful to the Life of the Soul," "The Interior Life," "Internal Consolation" and "Invitation to Holy Communion." The first book has been the most helpful for me.  In organization it reads like Proverbs -- every sentence or verse being relatively self-standing, though organized as a coherent whole. In tone and content it reads like Ecclesiastes on steroids.

This is a Saturnine work.  Written for monks and ascetics, its primary exhortation is to remember the relative worthlessness of things of this earth, and concentrate fully on the goodness of God. It urges us to pursue a serene life of contemplation, untroubled by the vanities of fame, riches, wisdom, or even human companionship.

In this sense, The Imitation of Christ is both beautiful and dangerous. In encouraging the contemplative life, this work pushes us further and deeper into God's Presence, but it also pushes us into the mystery and ineffability that we find there.  We ought not lose our bearings, or forget the other virtues that we are called to balance against this. James 4:9 bids us to "Be miserable and mourn and weep; let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy to gloom." Yet we are also to rejoice in the Lord, and remember His triumph.  We ought to love God and not be troubled by things of this life; yet we are also love others and sacrifice ourselves for them.

The Imitation of Christ is an immensely valuable resource to those seeking to deepen their spiritual life. It is not Holy Writ, so each statement ought to be weighed carefully for its merit, but it still comes awfully close. The Imitation of Christ may have been written for Late Medieval Catholic monks, but it's still remarkably applicable to the spiritual walk of modern Protestants and Christians of all denominations.

This was cross-posted at my theology blog, Orthodox Reflections.

Tangled (2010)

By Publius

“Tangled” marks the long-awaited return of the Prodigal Studio, the revival of classic Disney story-telling. The trailers made "Tangled" seem like an irreverent romp through the Disney Princess archetype, along the lines of "Enchanted" or (Heaven help us) "Shrek." Bless the stars, it wasn't. Sincere, sentimental, and mostly unselfconscious, "Tangled" was the genuine article. It also features my new favorite sidekick and favorite villain of all the Disney movies I’ve seen. All told, "Tangled" was pretty swell.

In case you haven't read the fairy tale (originally from the brothers Grimm), Rapunzel is a princess with very long hair trapped by Mother Gothel in a very tall tower, who ultimately gets rescued by a prince, the end. In case you haven't seen the movie, Rapunzel has grown up ignorant of her real parents, firmly convinced that Gothel is her actual mother, and instead of a prince she is rescued by a charismatic thief, Flynn Rider.

Aesthetically, the film is gorgeous. The scene with the lanterns ascending into the night sky very literally took my breath away for a second. The film trades primarily on an aesthetic of Joy – both with Rapunzel’s first steps on solid earth, and her vibrant dance when she first comes to the town square. On a technical level, the animators sought to marry the detail of modern graphics technology with the beauty of classic hand-drawn technique. They truly succeeded.

Musically, the film was scored by Alan Mencken, the man responsible for basically every memorable song from our childhood. His work here isn't quite as jaw-dropping as the scores he composed for "The Little Mermaid," "Beauty and the Beast," "Aladdin," and more recently "Enchanted," but still more than passable. The lyrics for the typical "I want" intro song were -- dare I say it? -- almost unexpected at times, while the deliciously menacing "Mother Knows Best" is guaranteed to bring the house down on Broadway. The most memorable melody for me, however, was the falling-in-love duet "Waiting for the Lights," which was set in the lantern scene described above and complemented it perfectly.

Let's talk characters. First, the sidekicks were hilarious. Rapunzel's pet chameleon Pascal was a bundle of contradictions: mute but expressive, tiny but powerful, withdrawn but intimidating. However, the show was absolutely stolen by Maximus, the horse of the captain of the Palace Guard. The animators gave him the tenacity, temperament, and tracking ability of a bloodhound.  Being a dog person, this enthused me greatly.

The villain, Mother Gothel, adds another layer of excellence to this film. I'm pretty sure she is Disney's first passive-aggressive villain. Alternating protestations of love with biting deprecations, she has kept Rapunzel almost terminally insecure, trapping her in the tower by bars of stronger stuff than iron. Her manipulative nature actually amplifies and justifies the classic arch-villain trope of not seizing the immediate advantage. She finds Rapunzel, but decides to let her stay with Flynn Rider to ensure that Rapunzel's heart is broken.  She can't compete with Jafar or the great villains of classic Disney for menace or sheer quantity of evil, but in terms of plausibility and narrative coherence Mother Gothel is my new favorite.

Rapunzel herself is an interesting case-study in the Disney Princess files. Her relationship with Mother Gothel has made her so emotionally unstable, that you really do understand her initial passivity and dependence on others. Yet her true personality is defined outside that relationship. Not as aggressive as Jasmine in "Aladdin,” Rapunzel is certainly forceful enough to hold her own against the roguish charms of Flynn Rider and the roguish gallery at "The Snuggly Duckling." Unlike Mulan or Portia in "The Merchant of Venice," Rapunzel does not have to become a man, nor suspend her dreams and romantic aspirations, in order to learn the culturally “masculine” virtues of courage and assertiveness. Indeed, Rapunzel is refreshingly feminine for a modern heroine.

Flynn Rider may in fact be the more interesting character study in "Tangled." I was initially worried that this would turn out to be another entry for the "Myth of the Romantic Scoundrel" files, and indeed his initial betrayal of his partners-in-crime was concerning. I partly sympathized with Mother Gothel when Rapunzel started talking about how she met a boy. "Who, the wanted thief?  I'm so proud." On the other hand, the character for Flynn Rider is voiced by Zachary Levi (of TV's "Chuck"), who conveys such an unassuming "nice guy" vibe that it's hard to even think of him as a villain. His vanity is apparent, but his primary flaw seems to lie in his reticence. He is unwilling to open up to people: "I don't do back-story," he explains to Rapunzel. But when he is trapped to drown in a cave, his defenses break down and he makes his first baby-step towards trust, by admitting that his real name is Eugene Fitzherbert. The name is a delightfully archaic touch, but conveys a deeper truth: namely, his entire persona as "Flynn Rider" is a lie (as he practically admits in his next sentence), and that even his vanity was a defense mechanism for insecurity. I also thought it noteworthy that Rapunzel never again addresses him as "Flynn" but always calls him Eugene from that point on. She knows, and loves, his real nature. The two characters are in this sense growing in parallel -- Rapunzel learns the cardinal or classical virtues (courage, temperance, justice and prudence), while Eugene learns the spiritual or Christian virtues (faith, hope and love).  Romantic love may test and teach those who already desire the Good, but it should not be seen as a means of redeeming and bringing virtue to those who do not already seek it.

"Tangled" is a sincere celebration of romantic idealism in a world that satirizes idealism for breakfast. It must be conceded that this ironic mentality does penetrate the film on occasion. Parts of the opening narration, for instance, do incline towards the satiric or self-consciously cutesy. The worst offense to my mind was the “I’ve Got A Dream” sequence where the rogues in the Snuggly Duckling burst into song detailing their oddly domestic aspirations. Even as the scene abounds with joy and revels in its own cheesiness, the film finds it necessary to cut to skeptical mug of Flynn Rider, whose face seems to shout “I am not amused in the least.” On the other hand, it’s hard to find a single non-Pixar animated film from the last decade that didn’t at least wrestle with the satiric impulse. But like this year’s “How To Train Your Dragon,” “Tangled” succeeds in overcoming that initial handicap, and presents ideas and ideals of real meaning with honest sincerity.