La Vie des Gens

Our cinéma closed in September. There is one that's even better, but it requires a 30 minute drive on country roads. It's worth it.

This was at least the third occasion to go out on a weeknight to hear a director humbly present their film. Each time it's been an immense privilege. I like country cinemas that show good films and invite their directors, films and directors that otherwise would remain unknown. And it was also a privilege to realize, halfway through the director's talk, that I was understanding what he was saying. I was not lost, I was enjoying it as much as anyone else was.

This is probably not a film that will make its way subtitled to the states, and for that I'm sorry. It's a year of following a firecracker of a visiting nurse and her host of patients that become like family. We don't always fear death; we fear growing old, the limitations and the ailments and aches and the pains that come with it. And in spite of it all, there are smiles and bright spots, most often due to the visits of caretakers, those moments when solitude and loneliness are broken.

It's a tribute to humanity, and to those who give of themselves for others.

The title is simple and brilliant: it's about the life of people.

If Christianity is about visiting the sick and caring for the widows, we could all learn a thing or two from Françoise.

If you don't know about this guy yet...

...your introduction is overdue. Enjoy. Thank me later.

Finding Vivian Maier

She had an eye for the bizarre, the grotesque, the incongruous. She liked headlines that revealed the folly of individuals, where you could say 'I told you so.' Some man murders his wife then gets caught in cold blood. I told you so. The things that revealed the folly of humanity. If you look at her art, she sees the bizarreness of life, the incongruity of life, and the unappealingness of human beings.

This description of Maier and her work made me think that she's a kindred spirit to Flannery O'Connor, a woman only one year her elder. Certain aspects of their work make a lot of people flinch, but they'd most likely have left one another unfazed, and certainly could have produced some interesting, albeit dark, collaborations.

And while this edge to Maier's personality and body of work can't stay unacknowledged, it's an overstep to reduce her work to this single dimension. Like the self-employed journalist she pretended to be, she did an incredible job of capturing and reflecting the full spectrum of the human condition in its honest entirety, good, bad, and ugly, be it a moment of tenderness, beauty, absurdity, or darkness. The vast scope of her work is precisely the reason it resonates as it does. She had a curiosity for the details of who we are and what we do, and in my mind that's most often what makes a good artist.

There are moments where I like that cliché conversation starter: what will you ask God when you get to heaven? 

I imagine sitting down with Him for a long chat about mental illness. What is it? and Why? and Is it really illness? and Why do the mentally ill so often serve as artists, and as such, chosen as prophets? Why do the mentally ill seem to actually have a better grasp on some things than those of us who are "sane"? Who's really mentally ill here? What's the real delusion?

(cross reference to the lunatic in Revolutionary Road...or Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz...)

Zoom out to the human condition in which Maier was trapped and tried so desperately to capture, perhaps in an effort to escape. God, what's really going on here? What are you up to? and Why?

Another question: why did we ever stop using Rolleiflex cameras?

All photos stolen from vivianmaier.com. Film website here.

Grieving with St Vincent

What's in the box?
My wife. 
She died? ... Sorry Vin, for your loss. 
I never understood why people say that.
They don't know what else to say. 
How about What was she like? Do you miss her? or What are you gonna do now?

This quote came back to me the other day when I learned a friend's dad died and I thoughtlessly fumbled an "I'm sorry" in his direction. But it took me a while to remember where the quote came from.

Saint Vincent attempts to pack a little too much sappy fluff into one movie, but its message carried by Murray's terrific performance remains a worthwhile one. Wisdom will always come from unexpected places to those with eyes to see and ears to hear. This scene was just one example, where Vin gives great advice on grieving with those who grieve, probably because in his own way that's what he's done most his life.

Boyhood

"So what's the point...of any of this? Of Everything?"
"Everything? What's the point of everything? I sure don't know. Neither does anyone else. We're all just winging it. But the good news is you're feeling stuff, you know? And you gotta hold on to that. You do. You get older and you don't feel as much. Your skin gets tough."

Boyhood, as is typical of Linklater, is so understated it's hard to appreciate it on first watch.

But even that says something. Sure, every critic is making a big deal about its innovation in being filmed over the course of 12 years. But don't forget the film doesn't make a big deal of it, and that's important. If it were filmed with the same cinematography as Tree of Life--a similarly profound Texan coming-of-age broad-scope story--there'd be more to immediately draw you in and appreciate. But humility, simplicity, subtlety, understatement: that was the road chosen in every regard. It doesn't make the movie an easily-digestible blockbuster but it does lend itself to transcendence.

It's tempting to wonder if the film would be any good if it wouldn't have been filmed over the course of 12 years, if it could stand on its own without this "gimmick" to lean on. But the two can't really be separated in such a way. It's not so much a gimmick as it is the story itself. The film is the 12 years, the 12 years is the film.

It's in the details of life passing: video games and clothing and music and food and haircuts and milestones and motivational pep talks and a slow, awkward evolution in and out of phases. For me, all these important slices of life captured and displayed in Boyhood were easier to appreciate after the fact, compiled in a trailer or the highlight reel of a critic, and that in turn made me more deeply admire the film as a whole.We tend to think all those phases stop in adulthood, as if growing up is restricted to boyhood and stops at the age of 18 or 21, as if it's just something to endure and survive, but we see here those phases continue all the same.

It's in the human experience: making sense and moving forward on a long road of pain and beauty, never quite arriving, and learning to be okay with that.

It's in the hard questions of an unfolding life: when making immature choices give their natural consequences, and when making supposedly mature choices don't work out like the world says they should.

It's the peculiar irony of life. Because this mom and dad, ready to give so much to their kids, would have in the end really made a great team and saved themselves a lot of trouble if they had stayed together. Hindsight is 20/20. And yet, even in the brokenness of the situation and the tumultuous experiences that come with it, they do still make a pretty good team all in all. The absent father we might have considered a deadbeat and a slacker isn't at all as absent as we thought. He is in fact the most stable, constant thing these kids have. The hot rod he drives giving him an air of rebellion becomes in fact one of the safest and steadiest homes they know. In spite of all the less-than-ideal circumstances, as seems to always be the case in this wide world of unexpected grace, all is not lost.

And perhaps the familiar motto we mutter to ourselves all through the movie becomes a pretty good theme for summing up all of life: My, how you've grown!

Yes, you've grown, and you're never done growing.

Hasta Mañana

Je suis entré dans une église. C'était la première fois. Wow. Impressionant.

We went to see this little indie film in town last night, to see the directors and an actor talk about it afterwards. One of the two directors just turned 18, and if I understand correctly he's become the youngest film director in the history of French cinema...but maybe I didn't understand correctly.

It was not a film that blew me away, but it was a really enjoyable community experience. The audience was, for some reason, nombreux and really enthusiastic. And as the credits rolled I learned these young bucks appear to be Christians. I loved witnessing their idealism, their big dreams and the pursuit of them, and a promising start to a much longer career. A cynical world, me included, often scorns such naiveté, but if we let go of our own vicious insecurities that too often keep us from trying, something about it becomes quite contagious. And it's all a lot easier, as the film's story and directing team show, if you've got a good friend who is advocating for you every step of the way.

What if each of us had a friend like that? What if each of us could be a friend like that?

On Needing Critics - from Life Itself

For too long in the Christian community, "love" and "unity" mean a fear of conflict, a fear of disagreement, a fear of criticism, a fear of plain speak and direct talk. "Humility" means not saying what you think, and not standing up too firmly for what you believe in. Those who do speak up, then, supposedly have intentions to wound and to divide, and are quickly written off as arrogant.

Part of the problem is not the spiritual side of things, but a wanting educational system where everyone is right. We've never learned how to develop and support and defend our stances and opinions, and as a result most of us really are tossed to and fro  by the waves and carried about by every wind. Christian or not, it's a lack of critical thinking skills and civil discourse skills. Too often, though not always, the only ones left to speak up then truly are arrogant, brash, flippant, belittling.

Watching Life Itself, Roger Ebert inspired me. Too often we see critics as the pretentious intellectual snobs that too easily approve certain things (that are often unpopular) and disapprove of others (that are often popular). They seem to do it to please themselves and their pretentious friends, and there is no real connection with the average consumer. They do it out of narcissism; they love their opinions more than the art and take pleasure in cutting others down. But Ebert seemed different; he seemed to have a real concern for the average person, a real concern for the art, a real concern for the director, and a real concern to make things better. He wasn't a critic to criticize, it seemed he was ultimately a critic to exhort and admonish.

He seemed to detest Siskel, and the feeling was mutual. The way they argued with one another and judged films was not only frank, it was rare in our day where everyone's right, everything's amazing, and no one knows why. But they always backed up what they said, they challenged one another, they hung in there, they stuck together, and ultimately they were both better for it. What they did together was stronger than what they could do apart, and the consistent mutual challenge steadily improved their craft. There were plenty of moments they hated one another, but it seems as though ultimately, they learned to treasure one another.

Ebert did the same with film directors. Though not a director himself, it was almost as if he mentored them. He cheered for them and encouraged them and made them better. He took heat for befriending directors: how would he maintain an objective voice? The reality was just the opposite: he criticized even his friends when it was deserved, and men like Scorcese talked about how valuable that was. They listened, but only because he knew what he he was talking about and because he was a friend.

What if we in the church could experience the same thing? What if we could talk straight and not be afraid of it? What if we pushed one another toward excellence? What if we challenged each other to be the best we could be? What if we hung in there with one another, determined to make it work, hashed it out, kept talking, kept explaining, kept defending and supporting? If it were housed in love and commitment and in gospel-centered unity, and if it were received with listening ears and truly humble spirits, just maybe it would actually make us better.

I'm afraid we too easily shun the critics. But if they've got intentions like Ebert's, I'd say we just might need them. 

I've never been a big follower of Ebert, but I've read plenty of people thanking and praising him. I'm ready to join.

leave a light on

Moving On from ainslie henderson on Vimeo.

Her

Maybe that would have filled this tiny little black hole in my heart, but probably not.

Despite its weird premise, I expected to love this movie. To be honest, I didn't.

It probably had something to do with being just too downright tired to watch. But besides that, it made me uncomfortable. It felt just as narcissistic as the generation that could make the premise plausible. It felt overly condoning, as if it weren't showing the reality, as if it went too far, hook, line, sinker. A shift came, but for me it came too late. I was already weirded out and turned off.

With further reflection, like any good, demanding, challenging film, I've come to see that that might have been exactly the point. That despite all the pathetic and disgusting substitutes our world comes up with to put a band-aid on our isolation, even the ones that end up being really alluring, we're made for flesh and blood connection. It might even be pointing to the one who did indeed come as flesh and blood.

I'm gonna have to watch it again.

(The Extravagant Voyage of) The Young and Prodigious TS Spivet

How could humans create so many right angles when their behavior is so convoluted and illogical ?

Due to limited brain space, my movie reviews are being reduced to the one quote I retain from the movie. I'm just glad I have the brain space to watch the movies, because I had been going through quite the dry spell there.

I will add a few sentences on this one. It's a half-decent film with a mostly interesting heart-tugging look at the way grief affects families. But what's ashame is that it was lacking Jeunetness, the bursting-with-life absurdity and love for the little things that we see elsewhere from this director. Sure, there was some absurdity, but it was all muted and sleepy. I blame about 80% of it on the hokey back porch of the ranch soundtrack, 10% on entrusting all the film's narration to a child, and the remaining percentage to other factors. In the end, we're left feeling just about as numb as the characters in the film, but I doubt that was the intent. They have a much more legitimate reason to feel that way than we do. And it's too bad.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization in this barbaric slaughterhouse we know as humanity.

Philomena

I knew very little of this film other than knowing it was showing in English, seeing good ratings, and watching the trailer. That was a good way to go into it; the less you know the better.

"Do you believe in God, Martin?" 
Not your typical ice-breaker, but not a bad place to start, no?
"I've always thought that was a difficult question to give a simple answer to. Do you?"
"Yes."

But I was quickly bracing myself for an agenda-pushing film where the Christians are the bad guys and the "progressive liberals" -- for lack of a better word and to avoid some possible spoiling -- are the good guys. This was thankfully escaped thanks to the genuine and heartfelt contrast between Philomena and Martin where, in the end, neither one is completely right or wrong, and the answer is found in the tension-filled both. They learn from one another, need one another.

What we see is that, if you've got an anger that is justified and righteous, there's no way to escape hate except to forgive, and there's no way to forgive without a simple faith in a God that forgives. Forgiveness, of course, sounds easy and feels free; those who really know it know that it is anything but.

And as for adoption. I as much as anyone am thankful for the attention adoption seems to be getting in Christian circles; we seem to be hearing more stories, seeing more videos, reading more articles, witnessing more families, and this is good. I am inclined to believe nothing else strikes more true to the very heart of the Gospel than adoption. But as Philomena's story serves to show us, in our rightful eagerness to adopt, and in the temptation to make our story Facebook-worthy, let us also be sober-minded. Let us be eager to unconditionally accept and love a child, but not too eager to be the admirable heroes saving a child from supposed squalor and neglect. Because first of all, that might not exactly be the case. And second of all, regardless of circumstances, where there is a biological mother left behind on the other side, most often she will continue to think of this child day after day, perhaps even secretly for fifty years. Her thoughts for him and the act of daily letting him go are a profound expression of love in their own right.

"What was his handshake like?"

Searching for Sugar Man

If it were a tale about anyone else in the music business, like say the Beatles showing up in America, it would be a tale of idolatry and egocentrism and making it big and success as the world defines it. But because it's a tale of Rodriguez, it's different. He's a modest man who doesn't necessarily want to make it big, he just wants to change the world. Even that's easier said than done, because when he 'fails' in music he tries his hand in politics, and that goes nowhere just as quickly.

So when shows up in South Africa, this isn't typical music industry hype, this is a man who helped shape a generation. It's as though they don't want to worship him, they want to thank him. They appreciate him, and he's learning for the first time that he did somehow change the world. It's a story that, read on paper, is already pretty incredible, but to try and put yourself in all the strange mix of emotions at that first concert is absolutely astounding. It can't be put to words.

For them, a revolutionary leader is resurrected. For him, a hope is resurrected.

"To go from being the outcast to being who he really was, because it was as though it was him, and that was who he was."

But it's also a testimony to not only the power of art but the necessity of it, the mindset and outlook that comes with it for every corner of life.

"He approached the work from a different place than most people do, he took it very very seriously, sort of like a sacrament, he was going to do this dirty dirty work for 8 or 10 hours but he was dressed in a tuxedo. He had this kind of magical quality that all genuine poets and artists have to elevate things, to get above the mundane and the mediocrity that's everywhere. Even when his musical hopes were dashed, the spirit remained...he knew that there was something more..."

"So we're working class people, blue collar, hard labor...but just because people are poor doesn't mean their dreams aren't big and their soul isn't rich. My dad gave us a lot of exposure to the arts; he would let us go into the libraries and the museums and the science centers, and that was our day care, touring the halls of the museum -- Diego Rivera, Picasso, Delacroix -- and we began to learn of life outside of the city, in books and paintings and music." 

 

Inside Llewyn Davis

A man with a guitar in one hand and a cat in the other.

In one hand, pleasure, identity, livelihood, talent, escape, release, the ideals of life itself.

In the other hand, an unpredictable series of mistakes and mishaps and not always the best of responses to either one.

Taking care of one seems to mean letting go of the other, neither of which is really an option. The rest is an endless, complicated, seemingly impossible balancing act. 

It's the strongest image I've seen in a movie for a long time. And the performances were great, too.

Drive

Our little old country town put together its first Film Noir Festival over the past few days. It was an admirable initiative, but from the turnout I saw, was not exactly a success. Part of the festival was a retrospective with highlights from the noir genre, which gave the opportunity to go with some new friends to see 2011's Drive -- a movie that's been on my to-see list for the past two years -- and in English no less.

Halfway through our after-film discussion, after referring simply to the main character as "Ryan Gosling" over and over again, we wondered why none of us could remember his name. We stopped, thought some more, but no. No name is given. He's our man, our guy, the kid, mommy's friend, the neighbor, and of course the driver. Fitting, because that's about all the information we get on him anyway. He drives. That's about it.

If this were Fast and Furious 8, that's the one-dimensional character we'd expect, but the real experiment and the real success of this film is how much we somehow care without knowing anything about him, not even his name.

Like most films in the genre, it's an ugly story of debts and payments, of kill or be killed. But the Driver is reluctant. He didn't really want in, and now he really wants out. And that's where the questions begin.

Doesn't his reluctance make him innocent? He's not so much committing violence as much as he is enduring it. If he's defending himself and more importantly a woman and her child, doesn't that make him noble? These are acts of protection, maybe even sacrifice. I think these are the things the typical viewer leaves saying or wanting to say, maybe even what we're supposed to say. We see him desperately trying to escape, fighting for love, and so we root for him, the underdog, the handsome hero, the valiant prince.

But come on, says the skeptical moralist, these are some pretty atrocious acts, far from innocent. How did he fall into this vicious circle in the first place? And couldn't there have been other options to get out sooner?

So the questions continue. We don't know much. Do we know enough about him to even actually say?

After all, who is this guy? What's his identity? What's his story?

More importantly, what's his nature?

He watches cartoons with a little boys and asks, "Is that a bad guy?" Of course it is, the kid says. "How do you know?" Because it's a shark. "There aren't any good sharks?"

He warns the last man standing through the fable of the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion convinces the hesitant frog to take him across the river, after all, the scorpion won't kill the frog or else they'd both die. But when he stings the frog halfway across and the stunned frog asks why: "I'm a scorpion. It's my nature."

Are there good sharks? Are there good scorpions? Are there good men?

And the credits roll with another great synth-pop refrain repeating: "A real human being, and a real hero." And therein lies the tension.

Prodigious !

A favorite French director making his first English film set in America? How did I not know about this before 2 days ago??

Paperman

When the kid and I went to see Wreck-It Ralph, we came home raving more about the short-film that preceded than the main feature itself. Maybe it was in part because we didn't have to understand French to enjoy it, but surely it was more than that. We both watched mesmerized, with boyish grins. I searched the web for it afterwards to share it with E, disappointed with a lack of results.

Apparently I wasn't the only one searching. It was uploaded 5 days ago, already with nearly 8 million views. For good reason.

(bande-annonce)

A Spirit of Adoption

The father was paying at the cash register of the farmer's market. The son was playing around his legs, ducking under the counter. A boy about the same age came running up to join in the fun. But before they could get started, the son had something to say. He caught the boy's attention, pointed toward the man, and with a proud smile announced, "That's my Papa." He could barely express himself being only two years old, but he could already introduce his dad with confidence and pride.

"And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!'" Galatians 4:6

Adoption is more than a judicial decree or a legal document. There is a spirit of adoption that runs much deeper than oaths and swears and certificates. According to the law, there is no difference between a biological child and an adopted child. That's pretty profound when you think about it. But who cares what the birth certificate says unless the parents see it the same way? Who cares unless the same deep love is shown, the same great affection is present? This where the real wonder of adoption takes place. To change a certificate: that's law books. To accept a child fully as one's own: that's adoption.

cross reference from my favorite movie, an adoption that's not quite really an adoption:


That God adopts us could remain a cold concept on the pages of systematic theology and Bible doctrine textbooks. Who cares, unless the Spirit enables us to cry out to him in the same voice and the same name that Jesus himself used. The real wonder of adoption is when we speak of the creator of the universe and proudly grin with confidence, "That's my Papa."

The real wonder is when the assurance and security that comes with a relationship like this one begins to transform everything else in our lives.

safety not guaranteed

to go it alone or to go with a partner.
when you choose a partner, you have to have compromises and sacrifices, but it's the price you pay.
do I wanna follow my every whim and desire as I make my way through time and space? absolutely.
but at the end of the day, do I need someone when I'm doubting myself, and I'm insecure and my heart's failing me? do I need someone who, when the heat gets hot, has my back?
I do.