When my friend and I went to see Django Unchained in the theater last Monday, we had some idea the kind of movie we were paying to watch. We knew it would be typical Tarantino—violent and probably profanity-laden. But watching that film was our choice, and neither of us intended to watch it uncritically or thoughtlessly.
We did NOT pay to see NC-17 smut before the film even started. At the Salem Lancaster Mall Regal Cinema, the normal previews were followed by another with a mock warning that the preview was inappropriate for children but "perfect for you and your sick friends." What followed was a pornographic trailer for some "comedy" film that included "jokes" about rape, bestiality, etc. I stopped watching after the first few seconds, but I could hear everything.
I was so shaken up I couldn't concentrate on the film I'd come to see, so fifteen minutes into Django Unchained I found a manager and explained I wanted a refund for the two tickets, but still wanted to finish the movie I'd come to watch. After some haggling he obliged, but not before saying, "Well, you did come to see an R-rated movie."
To which I replied, "Yes, but I paid to see this R-rated movie, not some other one I don't know anything about, and certainly not an NC-17 one."
I'm no prude, and I've seen plenty of movies, many that would be considered edgy or even offensive, so it wasn't lack of exposure that made me hate this preview. It was obscene, callous, and perverted, but there was something worse: the "warning" before the trailer bore the Regal Cinemas logo and name. Not only were they wilfully showing filth, they were purposefully mocking and deriding anyone who would be offended by the content.
If it was just a trailer for a filthy movie, I'd have complained to my friend and left it at that. But the theater was making a calculated move to not only purvey smut, but to rub it in the faces of viewers while telling them they're idiots and morons if they find the content too twisted. If I choose to go to an R-rated film, I fully expect to see previews for R-rated movies, but I don't expect to see those movies themselves. And while I'll pay to watch No Country for Old Men or movies of its ilk, I wouldn't watch a filthy comedy whether I had to pay or not.
So, I'm never going to a Regal Cinema again. I don't usually boycott places, because I know that there is corruption and wickedness at all levels of every business, but this went too far and was enough to make me stand on principle. I won't try to convince anyone else to join me in this protest, but I have composed a letter to the Regal management, and if you intend to watch a movie at this or another Regal location, know what may be awaiting you and don't say I didn't warn you.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Django Unchained
Quentin Tarantino has perfected the dubious art of crafting artistic and engrossing films that are still no more than schlock Z-movies. Pulp Fiction is undoubtedly his best work: it redefined the grammar of cinema in a way that most average movie-goers could still enjoy. Inglourious Basterds was also inriguing, mostly due to the fantastic performances of Til Schweiger, Brad Pitt, and the formerly brilliant Christoph Waltz. But none of these films are good in a moral or philosophical sense.
The world all these films inhabit is a dark parody of our own, nihilistic and cold. If good ever prevails it's an accident, and the only good that ever prevails can only be called good because it's slightly less bad (though never any less violent) than the evil over which it triumphs. Lately, Tarantino has been rewriting a parallel history to our own, recasting crucial moments into savage caricatures that turn sober events like World War II, the Civil War, and Southern racial slavery into excuses for graphic depictions of mindless violence.
Django Unchained is by far the worst of the lot so far. The plot is simple enough: a German bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) teams up with the titular ex-slave (Jamie Foxx) to kill people for money; when they have enough money, they go on a wild, brutal revenge spree accompanied by gangsta rap tunes and glory shots. The blood comes in buckets, and there are unimaginably savage scenes which aren't meant to be indictments so much as catalysts for the audience's lust for "justice."
A couple of scenes in particular: a slave used for to-the-death bare knuckle fighting is eaten to death by dogs; one such fight is graphically depicted, complete with the winner finishing off his opponent with a hammer. Are these supposed to be exposes of the Old South? I'm about as far as you can get from being a Southern sympathizer, and I believe racial slavery to be one of the great evils of history, but these speactacles don't ring true. Instead, they incite the viewer against the perpetrators, keying them up for cheers and applause when the "hero" goes crazy and murders dozens of people.
This is wicked filmmaking. If anyone did half the things Django does on-screen in real life he'd be jailed, probably executed, and judged a sociopath. Why is it okay, then, to enjoy his antics through the medium of film? Why is it okay to glory in violence perpetrated in a fantasy reality, but not okay to be violent in real life? Simply put, it isn't, and the only justification to be made for such a film is that it feeds the darker appetites of humanity.
But don't we want to starve those appetites? As Christians who worship the Prince of Peace, we ought to eschew violence in all its forms, not hypocritically embrace fictional violence while decrying school shootings and rape. We ought to and we must as the citizens of Christ's kingdom and of the New Jerusalem.
The world all these films inhabit is a dark parody of our own, nihilistic and cold. If good ever prevails it's an accident, and the only good that ever prevails can only be called good because it's slightly less bad (though never any less violent) than the evil over which it triumphs. Lately, Tarantino has been rewriting a parallel history to our own, recasting crucial moments into savage caricatures that turn sober events like World War II, the Civil War, and Southern racial slavery into excuses for graphic depictions of mindless violence.
Django Unchained is by far the worst of the lot so far. The plot is simple enough: a German bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) teams up with the titular ex-slave (Jamie Foxx) to kill people for money; when they have enough money, they go on a wild, brutal revenge spree accompanied by gangsta rap tunes and glory shots. The blood comes in buckets, and there are unimaginably savage scenes which aren't meant to be indictments so much as catalysts for the audience's lust for "justice."
A couple of scenes in particular: a slave used for to-the-death bare knuckle fighting is eaten to death by dogs; one such fight is graphically depicted, complete with the winner finishing off his opponent with a hammer. Are these supposed to be exposes of the Old South? I'm about as far as you can get from being a Southern sympathizer, and I believe racial slavery to be one of the great evils of history, but these speactacles don't ring true. Instead, they incite the viewer against the perpetrators, keying them up for cheers and applause when the "hero" goes crazy and murders dozens of people.
This is wicked filmmaking. If anyone did half the things Django does on-screen in real life he'd be jailed, probably executed, and judged a sociopath. Why is it okay, then, to enjoy his antics through the medium of film? Why is it okay to glory in violence perpetrated in a fantasy reality, but not okay to be violent in real life? Simply put, it isn't, and the only justification to be made for such a film is that it feeds the darker appetites of humanity.
But don't we want to starve those appetites? As Christians who worship the Prince of Peace, we ought to eschew violence in all its forms, not hypocritically embrace fictional violence while decrying school shootings and rape. We ought to and we must as the citizens of Christ's kingdom and of the New Jerusalem.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Whom we ought to love.
My wife and I saw one of my favorite bands in concert last night—The Mountain Goats. John Darnielle is even better in person than on record. Two things struck me about the show.
First, common grace. God has preserved some good in the world, and it doesn't take a Christian to produce something beautiful or pleasing. Darnielle's spirituality is far from orthodox (in any sense), but his brilliant lyrics and music are worthy of admiration and enjoyment. Clearly, he gets some kind of pleasure in performance, and the audience shared it.
Second, the raggedy crowd. It struck me that the hipsters and freaks and weirdos were among those Christ came to save, but which His church so often has a special aversion toward. These are not mostly pretty people, people you'd feel safe around, or people you could talk small with. Yet they were all together in one place, united by a mote of common grace swirling in the dark.
What if they could all be united to us through Christ? What if we could grasp that grace common among us all and show them the particular grace of faith in Our Lord and eternal salvation? Why don't we? If we're willing to stand among them to watch a good show, why not stand before them with the Gospel? Why do we act as though common grace was any more than a taste of goodness in the midst of a crooked and depraved generation starving for the Bread of Life?
First, common grace. God has preserved some good in the world, and it doesn't take a Christian to produce something beautiful or pleasing. Darnielle's spirituality is far from orthodox (in any sense), but his brilliant lyrics and music are worthy of admiration and enjoyment. Clearly, he gets some kind of pleasure in performance, and the audience shared it.
Second, the raggedy crowd. It struck me that the hipsters and freaks and weirdos were among those Christ came to save, but which His church so often has a special aversion toward. These are not mostly pretty people, people you'd feel safe around, or people you could talk small with. Yet they were all together in one place, united by a mote of common grace swirling in the dark.
What if they could all be united to us through Christ? What if we could grasp that grace common among us all and show them the particular grace of faith in Our Lord and eternal salvation? Why don't we? If we're willing to stand among them to watch a good show, why not stand before them with the Gospel? Why do we act as though common grace was any more than a taste of goodness in the midst of a crooked and depraved generation starving for the Bread of Life?
Monday, December 3, 2012
After long silence....
My wife is pregnant (just in her third trimester), I've been working 50+ hours per week for over a month now, there's always pleny of yard/housework to be done, and I've been teaching Sunday school every week at church. This isn't braggadocio, just an explanation of why there haven't been any posts for so long. Oh, my sister got married, I was in a dear friend's wedding, my car's been in and out of the mechanic's, and other stuff. So, I'm going to start writing shorter posts, but I'm going to commit to posting five days a week. Whether you've missed me or not, I'm back.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
God is love.
There are infinite ways in which God is love. One of the most basic of these is that God is the only being of whom it can be said, His perfection not only justifies but demands His own self-love. If we long to approach His perfection through sanctification, the only path is to love God ourselves and submit to His will.
It doesn't bear simple intellectual acknowledgement: the idea that God's perfection necessitates His self-love requires sweet but arduous reflection. We finite human creatures are so far from perfection that our self-love is always tainted by impure motives, so much so that we are commanded in Scripture to not love ourselves. We are so imperfect that we are forbidden from loving ourselves, and yet God is so perfect that He must love Himself.
That He would also deign to save any of us is literally incomprehensible. We cannot take this seriously enough, yet in our arrogance and unpardonable silliness, we frequently (perhaps always, in one way or another) make light of God's love for us. We could try to excuse ourselves with an appeal to our imperfection, but that imperfection makes us no less culpable before the Sovereign of heaven, and yet He still shows us mercy and grace.
God is love. It sounds almost trite now, after millennia of misusing the phrase and shoving it into shapes in which it doesn't belong, after millennia of trying to make it trite. But it is the least trite statement with which we will ever be confronted. God is love means for His children that He pardons and forgives us, and for His enemies that He is quick to punish and mete justice.
How are these both true? Because of His self-love. If God loves Himself, then any people He has made His own He will also love, and any that have rejected Him without repentance He will force from His presence. Either of these are weighty enough concepts to incubate reflection throughout eternity, but it is the former that is most worthy of contemplation.
These three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. God is not some local deity or nebulous life essence to be greedy and mean (on the one hand) or silly and powerless (on the other). Love is great because God is love; and, likewise, God's love makes Him great. A king that is known only for his cruelty and oppression is soon forgotten or relegated to the big black book of history; but a King known for His magnanimity is never forgotten, though His enemies rightly fear the jealousy with which He guards His subjects.
It won't do to think improperly of God's love, but it also won't do to replace His love with intellectual propositions and hard sayings. The only path to enlightenment on this score is the Scripture and its revelations of God's character and nature. These bear constant reflection, not for the sake of mere knowledge, but in order to hear, feel, sense, experience and understand Yahweh, the God who is Love and who simply and absolutely and completely Is.
It doesn't bear simple intellectual acknowledgement: the idea that God's perfection necessitates His self-love requires sweet but arduous reflection. We finite human creatures are so far from perfection that our self-love is always tainted by impure motives, so much so that we are commanded in Scripture to not love ourselves. We are so imperfect that we are forbidden from loving ourselves, and yet God is so perfect that He must love Himself.
That He would also deign to save any of us is literally incomprehensible. We cannot take this seriously enough, yet in our arrogance and unpardonable silliness, we frequently (perhaps always, in one way or another) make light of God's love for us. We could try to excuse ourselves with an appeal to our imperfection, but that imperfection makes us no less culpable before the Sovereign of heaven, and yet He still shows us mercy and grace.
God is love. It sounds almost trite now, after millennia of misusing the phrase and shoving it into shapes in which it doesn't belong, after millennia of trying to make it trite. But it is the least trite statement with which we will ever be confronted. God is love means for His children that He pardons and forgives us, and for His enemies that He is quick to punish and mete justice.
How are these both true? Because of His self-love. If God loves Himself, then any people He has made His own He will also love, and any that have rejected Him without repentance He will force from His presence. Either of these are weighty enough concepts to incubate reflection throughout eternity, but it is the former that is most worthy of contemplation.
These three remain: faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. God is not some local deity or nebulous life essence to be greedy and mean (on the one hand) or silly and powerless (on the other). Love is great because God is love; and, likewise, God's love makes Him great. A king that is known only for his cruelty and oppression is soon forgotten or relegated to the big black book of history; but a King known for His magnanimity is never forgotten, though His enemies rightly fear the jealousy with which He guards His subjects.
It won't do to think improperly of God's love, but it also won't do to replace His love with intellectual propositions and hard sayings. The only path to enlightenment on this score is the Scripture and its revelations of God's character and nature. These bear constant reflection, not for the sake of mere knowledge, but in order to hear, feel, sense, experience and understand Yahweh, the God who is Love and who simply and absolutely and completely Is.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
NOT american literature you should read.
The King James Version of the Bible (for obvious reasons)
Paradise Lost, by John Milton (my favorite piece of literature)
The Pardoner's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer (my second favorite piece of literature)
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by T.E. Lawrence (maybe the finest example of an autobiography)
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, by Laurence Sterne (as Steve Coogan said, the first postmodern novel. one of the funniest books you'll ever read, and one of the best novels)
Essays, by George Orwell (the man was a genius and a prophet)
The Road to Serfdom, by Friedrich von Hayek (also a genius and prophet, and the spokesman for true conservatives in the traditional sense)
Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan (you simply have to read this one)
A History of Philosophy Volumes 1-9, by Frederick Copleston S.J. (the best of its kind, and more entertaining than you might think)
Titus Andronicus, by William Shakespeare (Aaron the Moor)
The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (best fantasy, best Christian novel, best modern epic)
Njal's Saga, by anonymous (if you've never read an Icelandic saga, this is the best place to start; you won't find more violence or snappy one-liners in even the best Schwarzenegger movie)
The Scarlet and the Black, by Stendahl (my uncle thought this was the best novel ever written; I wouldn't go that far, but it's up there)
Fear and Trembling, by Soren Kierkegaard (the greatest Christian philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
Twilight of the Idols & The Anti-Christ, by Friedrich Nietzsche (the greatest Pagan philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin (theology as it was always meant to be--apprehendable yet deep, intellectual yet applicable and spiritual)
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, by John Knox (first of all, the man knew how to title a book; second, the monstrous regiment was comprised of Elizabeth I, and his arguments are compelling)
If on a winter's night a traveler...., by Italo Calvino (so brilliant it's hard to understand why anyone since him has tried writing fiction, or whatever you call it)
The Master of the Day of Judgement, by Leo Perutz (a supernatural mystery story that actually makes sense and is actually scary)
Barnaby Rudge, by Charles Dickens (underrated and largely unread, this is a masterpiece in every sense)
Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens (if Dickens had written nothing else, he'd still be the greatest novelist of all time)
The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, by John Owen (the Puritans are my heroes; this book is pure devotion to Jesus Christ)
The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, by Walter Moers (who knew Germans had such a sense of humor??)
Hunger, by Knut Hamsun (never has deprivation been so carefully rendered)
A Universal History of Infamy, by Jorge Luis Borges (why isn't this required reading everywhere?)
The Gormenghast Trilogy, by Mervyn Peake (post-World War II Europe in a fantasy setting; this novel will blow your mind and remind you that fiction can indeed be great and worthwhile)
The Tain, by anonymous (an Irish cattle raid in the roughest poetic language you'll ever encounter)
The Kalevala, by Elias Lonnrot (when Vainamoinen sings the world into existence, if you don't lose your breath you're heartless and inhuman)
Mr. Standfast, by John Buchan (spies who use codenames from Pilgrim's Progress AND a veteran of the Boer War who ends up in a fighter plane)
The City of God, by St. Augustine (duh)
and finally
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (because really, he accomplished something great there)
Paradise Lost, by John Milton (my favorite piece of literature)
The Pardoner's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer (my second favorite piece of literature)
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by T.E. Lawrence (maybe the finest example of an autobiography)
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, by Laurence Sterne (as Steve Coogan said, the first postmodern novel. one of the funniest books you'll ever read, and one of the best novels)
Essays, by George Orwell (the man was a genius and a prophet)
The Road to Serfdom, by Friedrich von Hayek (also a genius and prophet, and the spokesman for true conservatives in the traditional sense)
Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan (you simply have to read this one)
A History of Philosophy Volumes 1-9, by Frederick Copleston S.J. (the best of its kind, and more entertaining than you might think)
Titus Andronicus, by William Shakespeare (Aaron the Moor)
The Lord of the Rings, by J.R.R. Tolkien (best fantasy, best Christian novel, best modern epic)
Njal's Saga, by anonymous (if you've never read an Icelandic saga, this is the best place to start; you won't find more violence or snappy one-liners in even the best Schwarzenegger movie)
The Scarlet and the Black, by Stendahl (my uncle thought this was the best novel ever written; I wouldn't go that far, but it's up there)
Fear and Trembling, by Soren Kierkegaard (the greatest Christian philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
Twilight of the Idols & The Anti-Christ, by Friedrich Nietzsche (the greatest Pagan philosopher writes on the things that matter most)
The Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin (theology as it was always meant to be--apprehendable yet deep, intellectual yet applicable and spiritual)
The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, by John Knox (first of all, the man knew how to title a book; second, the monstrous regiment was comprised of Elizabeth I, and his arguments are compelling)
If on a winter's night a traveler...., by Italo Calvino (so brilliant it's hard to understand why anyone since him has tried writing fiction, or whatever you call it)
The Master of the Day of Judgement, by Leo Perutz (a supernatural mystery story that actually makes sense and is actually scary)
Barnaby Rudge, by Charles Dickens (underrated and largely unread, this is a masterpiece in every sense)
Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens (if Dickens had written nothing else, he'd still be the greatest novelist of all time)
The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, by John Owen (the Puritans are my heroes; this book is pure devotion to Jesus Christ)
The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, by Walter Moers (who knew Germans had such a sense of humor??)
Hunger, by Knut Hamsun (never has deprivation been so carefully rendered)
A Universal History of Infamy, by Jorge Luis Borges (why isn't this required reading everywhere?)
The Gormenghast Trilogy, by Mervyn Peake (post-World War II Europe in a fantasy setting; this novel will blow your mind and remind you that fiction can indeed be great and worthwhile)
The Tain, by anonymous (an Irish cattle raid in the roughest poetic language you'll ever encounter)
The Kalevala, by Elias Lonnrot (when Vainamoinen sings the world into existence, if you don't lose your breath you're heartless and inhuman)
Mr. Standfast, by John Buchan (spies who use codenames from Pilgrim's Progress AND a veteran of the Boer War who ends up in a fighter plane)
The City of God, by St. Augustine (duh)
and finally
The Complete Sherlock Holmes, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (because really, he accomplished something great there)
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
American literature you should read.
The last post was fairly abstruse, so I compiled this list:
Moby-Dick, by Herman Melville (the Great American Novel, and the first experimental novel)
Moby-Dick, by Herman Melville (the Great American Novel, and the first experimental novel)
To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee (great first-hand introduction to the problem of American racism)
Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis (best introduction to the "American dream" and business politics)
The Road, by Cormac McCarthy (just beautiful)
Walden, by Henry David Thoreau (explains why the 1960s happened)
The Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck (one of the finest novels of all time, and best fictional presentation of the Depression)
The Old Man and the Sea, by Ernest Hemingway (fishing, baseball: it's the ultimate American adventure story)
Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut (hilarious, one of the first great postmodern novels and a brilliant deconstruction of American civil religion and military smugness)
The Deerslayer, by James Fenimore Cooper (the first American adventure novel; at least, the first good one)
Wieland, by Charles Brockden Brown (the first American novel, and a great horror story)
Wise Blood, by Flannery O'Connor (a Southern Gothic allegory about Jesus and scary fundamentalists)
The Movie-Goer, by Walker Percy (an expose of American individualism and confusion)
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, by Edgar Allan Poe (a little-known but AWESOME horror/adventure story)
Black Boy, by Richard Wright (posing as an individual's autobiography, this is better described as the autobiography of blacks in America)
Roughing It, by Mark Twain (the American West as it really was)
Ethan Fromme, by Edith Wharton (heartbreaking, and very New England)
The Sea Wolf, by Jack London (survival of the fittest, more action-packed and scary than Call of the Wild)
As I Lay Dying, by William Faulkner (a dead woman tells of her life from the coffin her people are carrying her to her grave in)
The Bridge of San Luis Rey, by Thornton Wilder (great redemptive adventure story)
Hiroshima, by John Hersey (what America did to Japan in WWII, very sad)
Invisible Man, by Ralph Ellison (the Black experience told with full literary abandon)
The Thin Red Line, by James Jones (redemption in Guadalcanal; the best WWII novel ever)
On the Road, by Jack Kerouac (the American rebel spirit encapsulated in vigorous prose)
In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote (how real-life becomes fiction, in the form of a terrifying crime story)
Lie Down in Darkness, by William Styron (the finest stream of consciousness novel written by an American)
Starship Troopers, by Robert Heinlein (the great sci-fi novel by a man who knew sci-fi was more than just escapism)
Bless Me, Ultima, by Rudolfo Anaya (the best book no one's ever read, and the best Latino novel)
The Man in the High Tower, by Philip K. Dick (what if Hitler had won?)
The Lathe of Heaven, by Ursula K. LeGuin (what if Hitler hadn't won?)
Dune, by Frank Herbert (the greatest sci-fi novel of all time)
A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr. (post-apocalyptic monks saving what remains of civilization while philosophizing: how awesome is that?)
Johnny Got His Gun, by Dalton Trumbo (the saddest war novel I've ever read, and one of the best)
The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien (man oh man oh man. maybe my favorite novel ever)
A Canticle for Leibowitz, by Walter M. Miller, Jr. (post-apocalyptic monks saving what remains of civilization while philosophizing: how awesome is that?)
Johnny Got His Gun, by Dalton Trumbo (the saddest war novel I've ever read, and one of the best)
The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien (man oh man oh man. maybe my favorite novel ever)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)